LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



CIitffL. Copyright l\ T o... 

ShelfXlL 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE 



BY 




ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE 




SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY 

New York BOSTON Chicago 
1896 



Copyright, 1896, 
By SILVEE, BUEDETT & COMPANY. 



J. S. Cushing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



L C Control 



Numb 



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tm P 96 026067 



MY MOST INTIMATE FRIEND, 
MY FELLOW- WANDERER IN MANY LANDS, 

Softer, 

THIS STORY OF A BRIEF SOJOURN IN THE EAST 
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



I have not aimed, in writing this book, to throw 
new light on matters scientific, archaeological, or histor- 
ical, relating to the Holy Land. A thousand weighty 
— and unread — tomes on such subjects already exist ; 
and for an unlearned layman to dabble in this lore, or 
to seek to follow, even afar off, in the footsteps of the 
horde of clergymen and savants who have dissected 
Palestine for centuries, would be an act of crass and 
futile presumption. 

This little work makes no such pretensions. It is 
simply the story of a desultory sojourn in a land where 
the most careless wanderer must feel that he is tread- 
ing on holy ground. It is a description of the Holy 
Land of to-day, as seen through a young man's eyes. 
I have sincerely tried to avoid other than the most rev- 
erent treatment of religious subjects and associations, 
and to glean a few great historical and sacred facts 
from the mass of foolish and priestly traditions that 
surround every landmark of the country. 

If my book is not that of a scholar, it is at least the 

tale of a traveler who felt deeply the more than human 

interest that must always cling to that dead land which 

was the cradle of our great Faith. The record gathers, 

from political events in the Orient following closely 

upon my return to America, an interest not its own. 

On reviewing parts of it in the light of late Eastern 

7 



8 



INTROBUCTOBY. 



events, an incident of my stay in Jerusalem recurs to 
me with a significance I did not perceive at the time. 

In December, 1893, foreign consuls throughout Asia 
Minor were directed officially to enforce a decree order- 
ing the expulsion from the Sultan's domains, within 
ten days, of all who, once Turkish subjects, had become 
naturalized citizens of other countries. English and 
American residents in Jerusalem, Beirut, Damascus, and 
other Syrian towns, at once took alarm and predicted 
serious trouble in Armenia. It was said, once and 
again, in my careless hearing, that the imperial man- 
date could mean but one thing : it was aimed directly 
at Armenian Christians. The Turkish government 
hoped to avoid complications with Christian nations by 
ridding the land of those who, in the event of a move- 
ment against the doomed race, would be, nominally at 
least, under the protection of foreign flags. 

The order was not a despotic caprice, but the pro- 
logue to the bloodiest tragedy that has been enacted 
within five centuries. Calling to mind what has hap- 
pened since the ominous decree, it seems incredible 
that neither England nor the United States protested 
against, or so much as instituted formal inquiry into 
the meaning of, an act that was clearly either arbitrary 
in cruelty, or else a useless display of authority. It is 
of course too late to speculate as to what would have 
been the result of such prompt and humane action. 
Yet, with the facts in the case before them, the sadly 
enlightened public will murmur, and the private Chris- 
tian citizen will draw his own conclusions. 

New York, 1896. 



CONTENTS. 



*o* 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. First Impressions — Gehenen — Some Arab Horses . 13 
II. Cafe's Chantants in Beirut — A Professional Story- 
teller and his Story 23 

III. Pictured Rocks at Dog River — By Diligence to 

Damascus 31 

IV. Damascus Streets and Bazaars 43 

V. Naaman House of Lepers, Damascus .... 52 

VI. House of Rich Damascene Jew — Damascus Massacre 59 

VII. Horse Market — Call to Prayer — Again in the Saddle G8 

VIII. Across Country — Camp Life 7(3 

IX. The "Aryan Brown" — Marriage Customs — The 

Druses 84 

X. A Syrian Wedding Reception — A Cloud-burst . . 94 

XL Rainy Sunday in Camp — To Csesarea Philippi . . 103 
XII. Luncheon at Dan — Syrian Khans . . . .111 

XIII. My Friends, the Bedouins 118 

XIV. A Midnight Visitor — In the Tents of Ishmael . . 128 
XV. One of Joseph's Pits — Sea of Galilee . . . .139 

XVI. Capernaum — Tiberias ....... 149 

XVII. Story of a Lordling's Scrape — Bedouin Bandit — Cana 

in Galilee 157 

XVIII. In Nazareth — A House of Mourning .... 164 
XIX. Esdraelon — Nain — Jezreel — Gideon's Fountain — 

Gilboa 176 

9 



10 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. Jenin — Samaria — Nablous 184 

XXI. Joseph's Tomb — Jacob's Well — Robber's Valley — 

Bethel 193 

XXII. Night in a Monastery — Bird's-eye View of Jerusalem 201 

XXIII. Jerusalem Cranks — Jewish Wailing Place ; — Holy 

City by Moonlight . 211 

XXIV. Mosque of Omar — Church of the Holy Sepulchre — 

The New Calvary — Solomon's Quarries . . 222 
XXV. Mount of Olives — Gethsemane — Bethany — At 

Sunset 232 

XXVI. Christmas Pageant at Bethlehem — Church of the 

Nativity 241 

XXVII. Midnight Mass in the Church of the Nativity — Chant 

of the Pilgrims — A Christmas Dinner . . . 250 
XXVIII. Valley of the Kedron — En route for Jericho — 

Ravens or Arabs ? ...... 259 

XXIX. Dead Sea Emit — Modern Jericho — The Dead Sea 

— The Jordan . . . . . .269 

XXX. Around the Camp-Fire — Tales and Songs of the 

Camp . , 281 

XXXI. Mar Saba — Greek Christmas at Bethlehem — Hebron 289 
XXXII. Departure from Jerusalem — Through the Land of 

the Philistines — A Man of Gath — Jaffa . . 302 
XXXIII. Jaffa Harbor —" 'Twixt the Devil and the Deep 

Sea " — A Bad Quarter of an Hour — On Board . 311 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



KX 

PAGE 

" I looked like something between an Arab and a cowboy " 

Frontispiece 

Beirut. View from the Grounds of American College . . 13. 

Oriental Beggars .17 

Damascus 41 

City Wall — where St. Paul was let down . . . 50 

"A Gorilla-like Negro" 51 

" The Street that is called Straight " 51 

House of Bich Jew 60 

David Jamal 74 

Our Camp 76. 

Bedouins near the Grave of Nimrod ...... 78 

After Luncheon . ... 86 

" Hermon was just above us " ....... 100 

Sheik of the Village . . . . . . . . .106 

Two-story Khans . .111 

Bedouins in Council ......... 120 

Tiberias 145 

The Wandering Field of Joseph 149 

Capernaum — " Desolation, Ruins, and Tangled Grass " . . 152 

Nazareth, " the City of Christ" 165 

The Fountain of the Virgin 167 

11 



12 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

" An Empty Coffin was carried on the Shoulders of Four Men," 175 



Fellah sowing Grain 180 

Site of Ancient Samaria 189 

Ruins of Market-place of Ancient Samaria 190 

Street Loafers in Nablous 193 

Jaffa Gate: Entrance to Jerusalem ...... 209 

Jews' Wailing Place . . . 214 

Jerusalem. Mosque of Omar in the background .... 219 

Entrance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre .... 225 

Garden of Gethsemane 233 

Bethany . 237 

Rachel's Tomb 241 

Elijah's Rock 242 

" They crowded Housetop and Terrace ' ' ..... 245 

Bethlehem Bride 247 

Bethlehem .255 

Ruins of a Roman Watch-tower ....... 259 

Tomb of Absalom . . . . 261 

Ancient Jericho . . . . . . . . .271 

The River Jordan 275 

The Dead Sea 279 

Pilgrims entering Bethlehem at Christmas-time .... 295 

Fountain of Solomon . 297 

Jaffa 309 




CHAPTER I. 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS — GEHENEN — SOME ARAB HORSES. 



LL the day before our ship had lain off Jaffa. 
I was safe to see enough of Palestine dur- 
ing the next few months ; so I had resisted 
the pleadings of a swarm of boatmen, guides, 
and hotel porters who wished to show me 
the wonders of their city ; and had con- 
tented myself with watching from deck 
the line of low, bleak hills, the gray town 
of Jaffa clinging to the mountain -side, and 
the crazy breakwater alive with boats. We had started 
on again at nightfall, passing the Carmel light-house 
before midnight, and reaching Beirut about six in the 
morning. 

The town, more picturesque and modern than Jaffa, 
rises from the shore to the hill summit, the white and 

13 . 




14 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



yellow houses brightened by gardens and palm trees. 
It is capped by the American College buildings. To 
the left the Lebanon range, running out to sea, forms 
an arm of the harbor. 

A crowd of gaudily dressed natives surrounded the 
steamer, clambering over our bulwarks, or shouting 
to us from their boats in half a dozen languages and a 
hundred different keys. 

Long lines of men carried goods from the hold, and 
became hopelessly entangled with a horde of venders 
who were trying to sell "genuine Syrian antiquities," — 
probably fresh from Birmingham, — and these venders 
in turn were jostled by the army of boatmen and guides 
who had come on board to pick up victims — or cus- 
tomers, as they would call them. The result of the 
conflicting crowds was a modern edition of Babel ; and 
I had begun to wonder if it would ever end and let us 
go ashore, when a man stepped out of the struggling 
mass and came toward me. He was of middle height, 
broad, and powerfully built, and had an air of grave 
dignity oddly out of place in that throng. I knew him 
already by reputation, and had seen his photograph, so 
there was little question in my greeting : 

" You are David Jamal ? " 

He had been engaged to meet me at Beirut and act 
as my dragoman through the country. As I shall often 
mention him, a few words of description may not be 
amiss. 

I had experiences with many dragomans during my 
sojourn in the East, and found in all the number but 
three who were really worth their hire. The rest were 
phonographic machines (frequently out of order) with 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



15 



truly civilized proficiency in the arts of laziness and 
petty theft. The three exceptions I found to this rule 
were Abraham Ayoub of Damascus, Demetrius Domian 
of Jerusalem, and — head and shoulders above all 
others — David J amal. 

Jamal is descended from an excellent Christian fam- 
ily of Jerusalem, but owing to his father's heavy losses, 
he was forced in youth to take up the trade of drago- 
man. Studying the Bible in connection with the geog- 
raphy of his own country, he not only familiarized 
himself with every mile of ground, but learned every 
historical or sacred episode connected with it ; sifting 
away the thousand traditions that surround each fact, 
and becoming a veritable walking guide-book. Then, 
turning to the task of lessening the discomforts of 
cross-country travel, he reduced them to a minimum. 
The fellaheen (peasants) and even troublesome Bedouin 
tribes have learned to know and respect him, so that 
his travelers pass in security through places that are 
anything but safe to the average tourist. His descent 
from a good family has freed him from the ill-breeding 
common to most dragomans. Throughout our whole 
trip I never once saw him ruffled, disrespectful, or out 
of temper ; which, as I crossed the country during the 
exasperating rainy season, is not a little to say. 

With this dragoman it was my lot to travel, and by 
his efforts I was enabled to see much that usually passes 
unnoticed by travelers through Syria. 

I pointed out my luggage, and, as soon as it could 
be carried into David's boat, we rowed for the custom 
house. Five minutes later found me in the midst of 
a scene that cast the shipboard turmoil far into the 



16 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



shade. It fairly took my breath away, and I no longer 
wondered that the Arab word for the custom house is 
gehenen (hell). I was forced — a fin de siecle Dante, 
with David for my Virgil — to watch the workings of 
this gehenen for half an hour until my own turn came. 

A band of Syrians had just come back from the 
World's Fair ; and their less fortunate fellow-country- 
men, the officials, who had been forced to stay at home 
and work, seized this occasion to prove to their wander- 
ing brethren that a traveler's life is not one of unal- 
loyed bliss. They set about this proof by opening all 
boxes and bags, declaring some things contraband, and 
strewing the floor with others. Some returned pilgrims 
whose passports were not properly vised, opened a 
screaming controversy with officials ; while some stum- 
bled hard over their luggage, and then talked about it. 
Attendants constantly charged through the crowd, haul- 
ing boxes, or ejecting troublesome natives. One rule 
was observed by all — to howl long and often. At the 
height of all this, my luggage was examined, found 
harmless, and carried out. We followed it ; the noisy 
street outside seeming almost silent after the din we 
had left. 

David sent the luggage ahead to the Hotel D'Orient ; 
then he and I took a carriage to follow. Before we 
could start, however, a mob of beggars surrounded us, 
with the cry one so often reads of : " Backsheesh ! 
howaji, backsheesh ! " 

The Oriental beggar is unlike any Western specimen 
of his class that I have ever seen. Loathsome, diseased, 
and unwashed at best, disgusting means are taken to 
make the Eastern mendicant's plight even worse than 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



17 



nature intended. Cripples came around us, with dirty 
rags wrapped about their injured arms and legs ; blind 
men with festering sockets for eyes; and, most repul- 




Oriental Beggars. 



sive of all, to me, men, well-built throughout most of 
their bodies, but with a bare hand and arm, or foot, as the 
case may be, of the size and shape of a new-born baby's, 
— dangling limply, or thrust into the face of some pos- 
c 



18 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



sible almsgiver. Whether these unfortunates are born 
thus, or whether in infancy the arm or leg is swathed 
to keep it from growing, I could never learn. I know 
that people so afflicted are proud of their deformity, 
and are the envy of other beggars who have no such 
drawing-card to help them make money. 

I soon forgot these unfortunates in looking at the 
people and houses we passed; and in noting the con- 
trast between such sights and one of our American 
streets. With us, we see red brick and brown stone 
buildings, and men in hideously cut suits of black, 
gray, and brown. Here, in Beirut, fashions are lenient 
and lasting. The brilliant tarbusch (fez), the brown 
and white abieh, or outer mantle, falling in long folds 
from shoulder to knee, — doubtless the identical style of 
mantle thrown back by Elijah on his journey to Heaven, 

— the colored robe and belt beneath it, or the vest and 
bagging trousers, according to the wearer's taste ; the 
odd foot-gear ; the swords and flashy dress of dragomans, 
and multi-colored costumes of the townsfolk, varied by 
the white, veiled, and shapeless forms of native women 

— all swayed and mingled like the moving colors of a 
kaleidoscope. 

Strings of mangy camels went by ; donkeys and 
horses blocked the road; and ugly stray curs, usually 
yellow, with pointed noses and mean faces, sneaked 
under carts, or slept in patches of sunlight. These 
dogs are ownerless (no native owns a dog in the East) 
and act as city scavengers, eating all offal and carrion ; 
thus saving people the trouble of cleaning their streets 
or burying dead animals. 

The lower streets are narrow, tortuous, and, of course, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



19 



dirty. Each side of the way is lined with low built 
shops, cafSs, and bazaars ; almost all of these open on 
the street. Men sit on the narrow sidewalk, — when 
there is a sidewalk, — playing chess or drinking coffee. 
Climbing the hill, we came to wider white roads, with 
separate yellow and white houses, red-roofed, and sur- 
rounded by palms and cactus hedges. Mosque domes 
and white minarets rise here and there, standing out 
against the blue sky. 

Almost all cities have some distinctive color. A 
dingy gray characterizes London ; our American cities 
reflect the red and brown of their houses ; but the 
prevailing tint in the East is white. However dirty 
the interior may be, the city, from a bird's-eye view, 
is almost sure to look white, and the glare of the sun 
makes it seem even whiter. Beirut is quite European 
when compared with many Syrian towns, but to a 
traveler who makes his first Eastern stop there, it seems 
like a new world. 

I noticed on the forelock or reins of many horses and 
donkeys a blue bead, and asked David its use. He told 
me it was a charm against the evil eye. The evil-eye 
superstition in the East is somewhat different from that 
in Italy. In Syria, the natives fear the " evil eye of 
envy," and believe that if some possession of theirs is 
coveted, it will sicken and die. Hence they fasten the 
blue bead on all their best horses, and even about their 
children's necks. I have seen native children whom 
their parents thought beautiful, dressed in rags that 
they might not attract the eye of envy. 

My first few days were taken up in wandering 
through out-of-the-way native places ; studying a myr- 



X 



20 STBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

iad new phases of life ; and in trying and choosing 
horses for the journey to Jerusalem. This last occu- 
pation was most pleasant of all. The average Syrian 
horse is not the Arab steed whose portrait we see in 
tea-chromos. That style of horse, when he does exist, 
is found in the Land of Moab, or the desert, and then 
in a very modified form. For a long, rough journey, 
such as we were to take, he would be worse than 
useless. The horses chosen for such a journey are 
little larger than our own bronchos. They are full 
of spirit, practically tireless, and as sure-footed as 
mountain goats. 

This sure-footedness is decidedly necessary in travel- 
ing through Syria, where one is constantly obliged to 
ride over steep, pathless mountains or down rocky 
river-beds. Through all my rough riding, I never 
saw one of these horses fall. If they ever stumble, 
it is more likely to be on some smooth, safe road. 

I once had to ride up a flight of slippery, moss- 
grown steps, and then down the other side ; and my 
horse took it as quietly and safely as an American 
horse would travel his mile in a park bridle-path. 

The Arabs and Syrians use saddles that look more 
like flattened meal-bags than anything else. Their 
stirrups are shovel-like in shape, and the stirrup- 
leathers are drawn so short that the rider's knee is 
on a level with his saddle. 

Thus, instead of grasping the horse with the knee, 
they use the calf of the leg, — their sharp-cornered 
stirrups serving as spurs. This fashion of riding is 
most awkward for beginners ; and though I soon 
learned it, I think our American method is not only 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



21 



far more graceful, but gives the rider more control 
over his mount. The horses guide by the neck, and 
have few gaits, — the walk, canter, and run being 
most common. Stallions are ridden almost univer- 
sally. Being fed on barley instead of oats, they are 
usually quite gentle. 

I tried several mounts, but at last settled on two; 
one for steady riding, and one in case my regular 
horse became lame or ill. 

I chose for everyday use a little white horse named 
Massoud. He had a meek and lowly air, and gentle- 
ness seemed to hang on him like a garment. I was 
afraid he would not suit me, as he seemed too quiet 
for any one but a lady to ride. But I mounted him 
for a trial-ride, and striking him with the sharp 
stirrups, slapped him on the shoulder by way of 
rousing him. I succeeded : I have never seen a horse 
more thoroughly aroused. He started at a dead run ; 
then, jumping high in the air, bucked, kicked, whirled 
half-way around, and set off once more on a series of 
canters and gallops, interspersed with bucks and sud- 
den turns. Had I used an Arab saddle at the time, 
I must certainly have been thrown. As it was, we 
kept up the performance for nearly half an hour, — 
until he sobered down for the time ; then I rode back 
with the conviction that, on such a horse, — no matter 
how monotonous the route, — I need never suffer from 
ennui. When other attractions failed, he could always 
be relied on to create a diversion. 

We grew to be great friends, Massoud and I. But 
he never let friendship interfere with business. Each 
morning I used to give him a lump of sugar and pat 



22 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



him. He was always grateful, and would lay his head 
most affectionately against my coat. But as soon as 
I mounted, amicable relations were suspended and the 
business of the day begun. My part of it was to reach 
my destination ; and his was, by dint of every trick 
his Oriental brain could devise, to kill me before I 
got there. 

I selected him for my first mount, and took for a sub- 
stitute a little terra cotta beast with a Roman nose. 



CHAPTER II. 



CAFES CHANTANTS IN BEIRUT A PROFESSIONAL 

STORY-TELLER AND HIS STORY. 



edly interesting. David piloted me to one of these the 
evening after my arrival. 

The place consisted of a single room, one side open 
on the street; a low bench running about the three 
other sides ; above, a shelf covered with nargilehs and 
bottles ; while in one corner burned a brazier where 
fresh coffee was constantly made. Beside it stood a 
tray of small coffee cups. 

The room, like most Eastern places of amusement, 
was utterly without decoration. Such resorts are, per- 




]EIRUT, as the largest and most 
European town in Syria, holds 
more places of amusement than 



j Jerusalem or Damascus. 



Open-air cafes, where liquor and 
nargilehs are served on marble- 
topped tables, are plentiful, and 
look like colorless reflections of the 
Parisian boulevard cafes. These 
civilized resorts offer little induce- 
ment to foreigners, but the regular 
coffee-house patronized by middle 
and lower class natives is decicl- 



23 



24 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



force, rigidly plain. The Mohammedan religion forbids 
pictures, and hangings would be ruined by the smoke. 
When we reached the cafe, at least forty men were 
seated on the long bench, or on stools and mats drawn 
around the one chair of the establishment. On this 
chair sat a striking figure : a tall, slender man dressed 
eccentrically in a hybrid suit. 

Red shoes and checked European trousers covered 
the lower half of his body ; while a close-fitting scarlet 
vest embroidered with gold thread, white puff-sleeves, 
shaped like those worn by women in our own country, 
and a red tarbusch set on the back of his head among 
a mass of curls, completed his costume. His face, 
unlike the grave, immobile countenances of the crowd 
about him, was alight with interest, the expression 
changing every second ; his dark eyes rolling in anger 
one moment ; a look of sorrow or fear coming into them 
the next. He gesticulated wildly, and spoke, now in 
deep guttural tones, now in high falsetto. His audi- 
ence regarded him with solemn interest, occasionally 
nodding or whispering to each other. The attendants 
moved about noiselessly, pausing to listen whenever 
the speaker's voice rose to some special climax, then, 
as it subsided, moving on again. 

At last the orator looked about, clapped his hands 
over his head, and stopped speaking. He gazed into 
space during a silence of more than a minute, then 
broke the stillness with a shout, and continued his 
speech. 

" What is going on ? Political primaries ? " I had 
whispered to David during the brief pause. 

" What are political primaries, sir ? " he asked. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



25 



I saw the folly of my question and did not repeat it, 
but asked what the speaker had been saying. 

" He is a professional story-teller," answered David. 
" Poor people come here who cannot afford to go to one 
of the expensive places. They pay a penny for coffee, 
and then another penny apiece to this man, and he tells 
them stories all the evening. He has just finished one, 
and he will begin another in a minute." 

Anxious to hear what wonderful tale could thus hold 
fifty grown men's attention a whole evening, I asked 
David to translate the next story as it went on. I had 
scarcely finished my request, when the narrator began 
to speak, David following him with a whispered trans- 
lation. I give the plot as nearly as I can remember it : 

There was once a prince (or sheik) who loved the 
daughter of a king who ruled a country across the 
desert. The sheik was poor, after the manner of 
heroes ; and the king would not give him his daughter, 
but said she should marry a richer prince who was in 
his court. 

The young prince watched his chance, stole the girl 
from her father's palace, and rode off with her. They 
had ridden a day's journey when they saw the king 
and his followers in hot pursuit. The sheik and his 
little party turned and attacked the pursuers, enacting 
such prodigies of valor that the king's men were beaten. 
The lover raised his sword to kill the king, but the 
daughter (Pocahontas-like) threw herself between them 
and begged her father's life, which the prince, with 
true fairy-tale generosity, granted. 

The king, grateful for his deliverance, forgave the 
&g lovers and invited them to come back to his court. 



26 



SYRIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



The sheik accepted the invitation and, dismissing his 
followers, rode back with his father-in-law. Hardly, 
however, had they reached the palace when his majesty 
ordered the youth to be bound and buried up to the 
neck in earth, forbidding all people to succor him. 

In this uncomfortable state the unhappy sheik re- 
mained for three days, until a friend went secretly to 
his brother and told him the story. The brother raised 
an army and engaged the king in a prolonged and 
circumstantially related battle, in which, as far as I 
could gather, every combatant killed at least twenty 
men. How, from a sordid mathematical standpoint, 
they reconciled this Oriental Kilkenny cat problem, 
when they came to settle up at the end of the row, I 
don't pretend to say. In Eastern war-stories a hero 
seems to be of no earthly use unless, single-handed, he 
can kill anywhere from fifty to a hundred opponents 
or put a whole troop to flight. 

I left the cafe in the middle of this interesting battle 
so I shall never know the outcome. Whether the half- 
buried sheik was released by his brother, or wholly 
interred by the king, must ever remain a mystery. 

I have repeated the story at length to show in how 
slight things an Eastern audience may be interested. 
It is impossible to imagine an American restaurant 
crowd listening for three hours to the tale of Ali-Baba 
and the Forty Thieves, or Bluebeard. But realism in 
literature has not yet reached Syria, and at coffee-house 
recitals the romantic school is still all-powerful. Such 
an audience would make the fortune of a Western 
theatrical manager. 

We went another evening to a native theater. David 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



27 



assured me that it was his first visit to such a place, 
and I believe him. A respectable married drago- 
man's taste would scarcely run in the line of many of 
that evening's " specialties." Much of the performance, 
however, was quite proper. The theater would have 
seated five hundred people and was little more than 
half-filled. Like the cafe, it was undecorated. No 
women were in the audience and I was the only for- 
eigner. 

The first part of the performance was under way when 
we entered. On the stage (a mere platform devoid of 
scenery) sat three men and two women, playing on na- 
tive musical instruments and singing. After one or two 
songs, one of the women — a beautiful Jewish girl with 
Greek features — came to the footlights (or where they 
should have been) and began to dance. I had heard 
much of the dreamy dances of the East and leaned back 
prepared to be enchanted. I was doomed to disappoint- 
ment. The dance consisted of a rather awkward shuf- 
fling of the feet and infinite wavings of the hands in 
time to a slow, tuneless chant. 

I have seen many terpsichoreans in Syria in different 
native dances, — dances for every occasion, from wed- 
dings to funerals, — and none of them were in the slight- 
est degree interesting or graceful. At the World's Fair 
in Chicago so-called Syrian dances were introduced that 
caused much comment and even censure. These were 
merely adapted to draw crowds (as the managers them- 
selves said), and in no way resembled their real native 
dances. The World's Fair Syrian dances are never 
danced in Syria itself. 

The girl followed the dance with a song in praise of 



28 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



her lover. Many expressions in this were like passages 
from Solomon's Song, the similes and metaphors being 
sometimes almost identical with those in the " Song of 
Songs." Little in Eastern poetry has changed since the 
days of the poet-king. His great Love-Song was proba- 
bly droned in this same minor key, by old-time Israel- 
itish maidens and accompanied by some such swaying 
of head and arms. I quote a few lines from the Beirut 
girl's song, as I jotted them down at the time from 
Jamal's literal translation : — 

" I called to my beloved, but he heard me not. 

"Lo, thou art beautiful. 

"Thine eyes are like the eyes of a deer; thine eye- 
brows are as a sword ; thy hair is like fine silk and thy 
mouth a scarlet band. Thou art tall and stately like 
the .palm-tree. 

" Behold I stand knocking at thy door early in the 
morning, seeking to enter. 

"Search my heart, and thou wilt find in it naught 
but love for thee." 

This is not altogether unlike Solomon's lines: — 

" His head is as the most fine gold . . . his eyes are 
as the eyes of doves . . . Thy lips are like a thread of 
scarlet . . . This thy stature is like a palm-tree . . . 
My beloved that knocketh, saying, 4 Open to me.' " 

The girl went on, after this poetical flight, to say that 
she would " go to Beirut to buy a coat for her beloved," 
combining ancient poetry with modern facts. The song 
over, she came down through the audience, passing 
around a tambourine for backsheesh ; then, with the 
other performers, retired to dress for the play that was 
to follow. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



j 

29 



During the entr'acte David told me the actors were 
Jews from Damascus ; that they could not read or write ; 
and that they themselves had composed (I cannot say, 
written) the play we were about to see. Not only had 
they composed the play itself, but they had learned and 
remembered lines, stage-business and all, without the 
aid of a single written word. To have mastered in this 
manner the three-act play we witnessed must have in- 
volved endless work. 

I shall not recount the somewhat involved plot, 
more than to say that it dealt with the old story of a 
jealous miserly husband who had married a gay young 
wife. 

The acting was extremely good, every one entering 
thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. True, all known 
laws of dramatic construction were thrown aside in a 
complete and decisive style that rather took away the 
breath of a witness accustomed to our own hard-and- 
fast rules. Stage " conventions " were more palpable 
than necessary, and many minor faults might be found. 
But none of these alter the fact that this complete and 
three-act comedy was composed and acted — acted well 
— by a troupe of uneducated, untrained Jews. 

The performance, considering everything, was won- 
derful ; even to the touch of naturalism, where the low 
comedian, being dunned by an importunate creditor, 
leaped from the stage and, pursued by his opponent, 
rushed for safety in and out among the audience. 

The audience showed no more surprise or amuse- 
ment than if one of the attendants had passed among 
them. 

The only time during the entire evening that they 



30 



SYRIA FRO 31 THE SADDLE. 



laughed, or even smiled, was when the stingy husband, 
reproached by his wife for starving her, exclaims : — 

" Why, didn't I bring home a pound of meat, only six 
months ago ? " 

Personally, I fail to see any great wit in the above 
remark ; but as the whole audience, hitherto impassive, 
roared with laughter, I suppose it was some rare gem of 
Arabic humor that lost luster in translation. 

The pantomime following the play was interesting 
from the fact that, aside from the native costumes, it 
was precisely the same pantomime originated centuries 
ago in Italy ; renewed in our days as " Humpty 
Dumpty," and as the English Christmas " Pantomime." 
How it crossed to Syria I do not know. But here it 
was — Columbine, Harlequin, and Pantaloon being none 
the less recognizable because of their Syrian dress. 
The Clown even wore the white suit and powdered 
mask by which he is so well known throughout the 
world. 

An element of Rabelaisianism, borrowed no doubt 
direct from the mediaeval Italian, ran through this 
Beirut performance, causing David to glance at me 
apologetically now and then, and once to repeat his 
former assertion that he had never before visited such 
places, and had had no idea what they were like. 

At the end of the pantomime the entire cast came on, 
and closed the evening with a chant in praise of the 
Sultan, following — or perhaps having preceded — the 
American and European custom of closing a perform- 
ance with the national hymn. 



CHAPTER III. 



PICTURED ROCKS AT DOG RIVER — BY DILIGENCE TO 

DAMASCUS. 

RIDING-PARTY, made up of the 
young doctors and the missionaries' 
daughters from the American Col- 
lege, was organized the day before 
I left Beirut. Our destination was 
the mountain of the Pictured Rocks, 
at Dog River. David had decked 
Massoud in gorgeous Oriental trap- 
pings, the inevitable blue bead fas- 
tened to each rein, and a saddle-cloth 
that might have been cut from the 
piece of which Joseph's coat of 
many colors was made. 

We started directly after lunch, 
for the ride to Dog River and back was long. The 
first few miles lay along the outskirts of Beirut, past 
adobe and stone huts, through denies of cactus hedge 
and waving reeds, down to Beirut River. Then, turn- 
ing to the left, we rode on the seashore, skirting St. 
George's Bay (one of the innumerable scenes of the 
worthy saint's encounter with the dragon). The native 
horses, being bred on the sands, started, as soon as they 
felt the sand of the shore under their feet, on a hard 

31 




32 



SYRIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



gallop, a sort of informal race which they continued, 
off and on, for several miles. 

A diversion was created, midway in the race, by a 
train laden with quarry stones passing on the ridge 
above. The horses, unused to locomotives, shied vio- 
lently, Massoud taking the bit between his teeth and 
bolting for the sea. He refused to stop until he was 
almost breast high in the surf. Then, as I succeeded 
in turning him, he tried to lie down and roll. I man- 
aged at length to bring him back to land, and, soaked 
through with salt water, started to overtake the others, 
whose horses had scattered in every direction. It was 
an invigorating gallop along the beach, the sea-wind 
strong in our faces, and the waves breaking white about 
the horses' feet. Leaving the shore, we went up a nar- 
row road, lined on either side with a sort of pampas- 
grass, toward Dog River. 

We were forced in this road to ride two and two, and 
here I fell from grace by my first attempt at Arabic. 
David had told me that the Arabic word corresponding 
to our " get up," or " hurry," was iella (I spell pho- 
netically), and that the native horses understood that 
term better than any other. Accordingly when Mas- 
soud fell back I used this word with the desired effect. 
My companion promptly informed me that I had been 
indulging in colloquial Arabic profanity, and seemed a 
little shocked. I was somewhat chagrined, but, in a 
country where people hiss at a horse to make him stop, 
and call on the name of the Deity to start him once 
more, a stranger is prone to mistakes. 

When I spoke of it afterward to David, he seemed 
surprised to hear that foreigners regarded the term as 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



33 



profane. And, indeed, when I had heard a few samples 
of genuine Arab profanity, — the most expressive and 
comprehensive in the world, — iella seemed to be quite 
mild. 

Half-an-hour's ride from the shore brought us to Dog 
River. This stream runs into the sea, and at the out- 
let two black rocks rise above the surface. These are 
supposed to resemble dogs' heads, and natives declare 
that they bark and howl on stormy nights. A hillside 
rises precipitously from the road, a few paths and 
ledges giving doubtful foothold. Narcissus and cyc- 
lamen in full bloom, in spite of the season, grew in 
the greatest profusion, half covering the rocks, and at 
the hill's base were squills and blossoms of all sorts. 

We dismounted and tied our horses ; then began the 
ascent. A few minutes' climb brought us to a wider 
path that twisted up the rocky hill to the pass above. 
This path proved to be an old Roman road, and just 
above was another track, much older, and less easily 
traced. This second road was built, either by Egyp- 
tians or Assyrians, thousands of years before Christ. 
Here was the sole entrance, through the Lebanon 
range, from Northern to Southern Syria. Nowhere 
else was it possible for an army to pass. The road is 
paved with bedrock of limestone, is steep, irregular 
and tortuous, with many pitfalls, and in many places is 
less than ten feet wide. It must, at best, have formed 
a dangerous and inconvenient passage-way for a large 
body of men. 

Yet over it have marched the armies of all ages ; 
from the fierce-eyed, half-naked hordes of barbarians 
who in earliest times swarmed down from the north 

D 



31 



STBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



to plunder the richer lands south of Lebanon, down 
through Assyrian, Egyptian, Persian, and Roman, to the 
modern soldiers of "Napoleon The Little," sent to pro- 
tect the Christians during the massacre in 1860. 

Along this nearly effaced road are the Pictured 
Rocks, slabs smoothed on boulders and cliffs, and deco- 
rated with bas-reliefs of the various invaders who passed 
that way. 

The slab nearest the main road represents Esarhad- 
don the Assyrian who came down from the Euphrates 
to crush a revolt against Nineveh, and, returning con- 
queror, caused a likeness of himself, in royal vestments, 
to be engraved on the rock. Beneath it is a hiero- 
glyphic list of his achievements. Beside this, and of 
earlier date, is an effigy of Rameses II., who wished to 
perpetuate in stone his victor} r over the Hittites. Esar- 
hacldon doubtless caused his own tablet to be carved next 
to that of Rameses, as an ironical reminder that the great 
power of Egypt had, ere then, succumbed to Nineveh. 

Passing on from these, we came to a bas-relief of Sen- 
nacherib, representing him as standing adorned with his 
tiara and scepter, overlooking Syria. This was graven 
when Sennacherib led down his purple-and-gold co- 
horts, — 

" Like the wolf on the fold," 

sure of easy victory. 

Esarh addon's irony in carving his tablet by that of 
Rameses is weak compared with the picture that rises in 
the mind of every one who sees the effigy : the picture 
of the regal bas-relief, emblematic of victory, looking 
down a few days later on Sennacherib, when, beaten and 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



35 



overthrown, he fled back over this same pass, accom- 
panied by his handful of unkilled followers. 

44 1 wonder if he thought to look at his own likeness 
on the rock when he retreated over this road? " queried 
a young doctor from the College. 44 1 always thought 
it was a bit unfair that he should have had such a hard 
time. He only tried to do what many conquerors had 
done before him." 

44 Esarhaddon, his son, avenged the defeat years later," 
remarked one of the ladies. 

44 Yes," answered the doctor, 44 but it didn't do him 
much good. For, in the meantime, his two other sons, 
in a spasm of filial piety, had murdered the old man." 

Several tablets, more or less distinct, follow these. 
Among them is the effigy of Sultan Assurnazirpal, who 
had conquered Syria ; and who, we read, 44 caused his 
image to be erected over against the Great Sea, offering 
sacrifices and libations to his gods for the favor shown 
him." The last inscription of all, said to be the oldest, 
dated from the early days of Rameses II., before the birth 
of Moses, and represented Rameses making votive offer- 
ings before an altar. This picture is no longer visible, 
having been effaced during the second empire, and 
replaced by a white and yellow stucco tablet, on which 
are proclaimed the military glories of Napoleon the 
Third, — fit climax, or anti-climax, for the list of heroes 
preceding it. Each of the Pictured Rocks was formerly 
protected from time and weather by double metal doors ; 
traces of which, in the form of sockets for hinges, and 
rust marks, still remain. 

The doors themselves were long since removed ; and 
the unprotected effigies, growing yearly dimmer from 



36 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



exposure to the outer air, must soon become as much 
things of the past as the worthies whose deeds they 
commemorate. 

I returned from the ride in time for dinner, and spent 
the evening packing. The diligence leaves Beirut each 
morning at four, and our places had been booked for 
the next day. 

At three in the morning David awoke me, and said 
that breakfast was ready. Early rising is seldom pleas- 
ant, and breakfast at three on a winter morning offers 
few charms. When I went to the dining-room, I found 
the cook and a waiter of the " Orient " who had sat up 
all night that they might be in time with my breakfast. 
They had beguiled the time with a card game. The 
waiter evidently had lost, for he was subdued and 
plaintive, and glanced reproachfully at me as the indi- 
rect cause of his misfortune, while the usually somber 
cook actually beamed. 

Breakfast was hastily swallowed, and we set off for 
the diligence station. Early as it was, the station-yard 
was already crowded with employes, passengers, mer- 
chants, and loafers. Speaking of this last-named class, 
it is evidently an Oriental refinement of laziness that 
makes a man get up at three o'clock in the morning to 
loaf. These loungers had no part in the work, but 
simply came to sit on boxes and sacks and watch the 
preparations for the trip. 

The winter night was pitch dark, and the few lan- 
terns served to heighten the gloom. Two or three sol- 
diers stood in the gateway, growling out orders, their 
swords clanking impatiently against the stone pave- 
ment ; a little group of women huddled in one corner, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



37 



waited to be lifted into the second-class compartment ; 
servants tossed bulky packages to the coach's top; a 
Franciscan monk, at one side of the courtyard, mum- 
bled orisons over a string of olive beads ; while the 
driver, a huge, clean-shaven fellow in European dress, 
high boots, and Jcafieh (the Arab head and shoulder 
covering) received parting instructions from the station- 
master. 

At a signal we took our seats. The first-class com- 
partment consisted of three seats in the front part of 
the diligence. My fellow-passengers were Syrians and 
knew no language but their own ; so I was left in peace 
to enjoy the trip. 

The first two hours were spent in winding up toward 
the summit of Lebanon. We reached the highest peak 
as day broke, and stopped to change horses. The air 
was very cold and bracing. Far off lay the Mediterra- 
nean, the rising sun striking white sails here and there 
on the blue water. The hillside of Beirut, with its 
white walls, red roofs, and green trees, was bathed in 
amber mist, and the twisting yellow road behind us 
looked like a great snake stretching from mountain 
to sea. Below, in the hollows, it was still night ; and 
lights gleamed here and there, from cottage windows. 
A flock of sheep and black, long-eared goats passed us, 
driven toward their pasture-ground by a shepherd with 
a gun slung over his shoulder. 

The station at which we had stopped was a long stone 
building, where the station-master, his servants, wife, 
children, live stock, and relay horses lodged. We got 
out to stretch our legs, and a traveling vender sold us 
cups of hot Turkish coffee and flat loaves of native 



38 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



bread. Five minutes passed in changing horses, and we 
started once more. 

The diligence road is owned by a French company, 
and is kept in perfect repair. Every hour the horses 
are changed, making fourteen relays between Beirut and 
Damascus. Six horses (probably imported from France, 
as they are larger than any others I saw in Syria) form 
each relay and gallop most of the distance. 

Some hours were spent in crossing the Lebanon 
range ; then we crossed a wide plain, and climbed the 
Anti-Lebanon. The engineers who planned this road 
introduced into it more turns and twistings than any 
ordinary mortal could have imagined. In climbing one 
hill, perhaps a mile from base to summit and not very 
steep, we made six different windings, tacking like a 
ship sailing against the wind. We must have traveled 
four miles in climbing that one-mile hill. We went at 
a uniform speed, whether up hill or down, averaging 
eight kilometers per hour. Long strings of camels 
laden with Damascus packages en route for the coast, 
mule trains, armed horsemen, peasants, and venders, 
passed us. All natives saluted the diligence respect- 
fully as it went by. It is a sort of wonder to their 
simple minds, this conveyance that can traverse the 
long road from Beirut to Damascus in fourteen short 
hours ; this diligence which is owned by a great foreign 
nation, and whose passengers sprinkle them with back- 
sheesh for any trifling service. 

We stopped at Stora, a village half-way between 
Damascus and the Coast, for lunch. David took me 
to a little hotel, on whose back veranda I ate as civi- 
lized a lunch as I could have had in any continental 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



39 



restaurant. A waitress who spoke broken French 
praised the merits of each dish, and insisted on rny 
taking a second help of everything, which, after my 
drive in the sharp morning air, and a ten hours' fast, 
I was glad enough to do. The Stora wine is famed 
throughout Syria, and rightly ; it has none of the 
crude sharpness of Lebanon wine, and possesses a pecul- 
iar bouquet of its own. 

After lunch I sat, with a nargileh, on the veranda, 
looking out at the view. We had passed, that morning, 
bare, rocky hills, olive orchards, and woods of dwarf 
pine. Everything had been in keeping with a foreign 
land. But here, at the back of the inn, was a birch 
grove, whose leaves silvered in the wind. Through it 
ran a little brook, and beyond was a green meadow. 
A bird was singing somewhere, and there was abso- 
lutely nothing Oriental about the scene. It looked 
more like a bit of American landscape ; and for some 
reason gave me a momentary feeling of homesickness, 
this home scenery, thousands of leagues away in an- 
other world. 

I had little time, however, to wax sentimental, and 
in a few minutes we were off, — en route, not for some 
place in keeping with the Stora scenery, but for Da- 
mascus, the oldest and perhaps the most Oriental city 
extant. 

The afternoon sun beat down fiercely, as we rode over 
the valleys and lower hills, and I became intolerably 
thirsty. One of my two fellow-travelers offered me a 
bottle of some greasy liquid, that looked like a mix- 
ture of milk and dish-water ; but I preferred rather to 
endure the ills I had than fly to others that I knew 



40 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



not of, so I declined with thanks. The other Syrian 
seemed to think a cigarette might quench my thirst, 
and offered me one. I puffed away at it, and gazed 
out at the dust-clouds, my tongue becoming more 
parched each moment, until the next stop. As we 
drew up, David appeared at the window, — a swarthy 
angel of rescue, — his hands full of cool, sweet man- 
darinos. 

"I thought perhaps you might be thirsty, sir," he 
said ; " it is rather warm down here." 

I could have fallen on his neck for gratitude. 

Then and always, during our long acquaintance, he 
anticipated my every wish, and did all in his power 
to lighten any inconvenience or fatigue. Late in the 
afternoon our road ran along a narrow stream, per- 
haps sixty feet wide. -This was the Abana, the " river of 
Damascus," which the Syrian of old declared " better 
than all the waters of Israel." 

We soon left the river and drove on until dark. 
About six we entered the city and were met by officials 
who examined our tezJceres and counted our luggage. 
The examination finished, we crossed to the Hotel Dim- 
itri, where I was to lodge during my stay in Damascus. 



CHAPTER IV. 



DAMASCUS STREETS AND BAZAARS. 



HE next morning we set out to 
see the city, first driving through 
it, and afterward making a tour 
of the bazaars ; my more unwel- 
come task — the visit to the Leper 
Settlement — being deferred until 
afternoon. 

Damascus is built in the shape 
of a spoon ; the handle formed 
of densely packed streets and 
mosques, and the bowl opening 
into the Medan (literally, "large 
place "). In this Medan the annual 
caravan of Mecca pilgrims forms. 
Here also a lump of sugar is given with great ceremony 
to the white camel which bears the Prophet's insignia; 

The journey to Mecca forms one of the greatest 
annual events in Damascus. None but Mohammedans 
may go on it ; and none but Mohammedans may enter 
the Sacred City of Mecca. One Christian, a German 
professor, succeeded some years ago, by means of his 
knowledge of Arabic and of religious customs, in join- 
ing the pilgrims and making the entire journey unsus- 
pected. This was, of course, done at imminent risk of 

43 




44 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



his life ; but as lie was afterward enabled to write a very 
learned book on the subject,- — which few people have 
read, — he probably felt repaid. 

The great Moslem burying-ground of Damascus 
is in the Medan. Here, bereaved relatives come to 
wail over the dead ; or, in case of other engagements, 
pay professional mourners to wail. In hot weather 
tents are put up by the tombs ; in which, on com- 
fortable chairs or rugs, the mourners can give their 
whole attention to weeping, undeterred by outside 
influences. 

Near by is the tomb of a man who murdered Fatima, 
Mohammed's favorite wife. The Faithful still cast 
stones at it in passing; accompanying each missile with 
some comprehensive *curse that embraces the murderer, 
his ancestors, and descendants. The tomb has been 
frequently cleared oat, but is at present choked with 
stones and rubbish. 

A broad thoroughfare leads from the Medan to the 
heart of the city. This street is lined with shops, 
money-changers' stalls, desks where scribes write letters 
for the unlearned, and brokers' stands. The roadway 
is choked with venders' booths and wagons; and near 
these, tradesmen of all sorts congregate to discuss busi- 
ness or drive bargains. Bedouins and fellaheen from 
the country come here to raise money on next season's 
crops ; merchants, usurers, and beggars are busy wring- 
ing a livelihood from any needy visitor to town ; Druses 
(recognizable by their unembroidered white turbans and 
blue eyelids) mingle with Jews, whose broad-rimmed 
hats, long beards, and side-locks make them conspicuous 
in any crowd. At one corner a tall man with no nose is 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



45 



selling questionable-looking meat ; while stray dogs and 
cripples fill all interstices in the throng. 

After a half-hour's drive we reached the bazaars. A 
certain quarter of the city is set apart for these, and they 
have been famous since the time of Christ. They con- 
sist of a labyrinth of narrow streets covered with arched 
wooden roofs, and lined with shops. 

These shops are usually nothing more than a single 
small room, open on the street. Each street is devoted 
to some particular industry. Thus, one is known as the 
Saddlers' Street, another the Silversmiths' Street, an- 
other the Bootmakers' Street, etc. The average shop 
is unpretentious, and is presided over by a stolid shop- 
keeper, who sits, smoking or sleeping, behind his wares. 
A long road is devoted to cheap prints, dresses, hand- 
kerchiefs, cologne bottles with womens' faces stamped 
on the sides, cheap lace, and ribbons, all imported from 
France or England, and selling for more on that account. 
The Silversmiths' Street is short, and separated from the 
main road by a doorway. It is more like a paved hall 
than a street. Many silversmiths exhibit their goods 
here, but few have their workshops on the premises. 

This business is almost entirely in the hands of Chris- 
tians. It is passed on, like many Eastern trades, from 
father to son, and seldom taught to outsiders. Christians 
in Damascus have, since the massacre, hesitated to buy 
land or houses, fearing that such property might be con- 
fiscated or its owners killed. Hence their living is usu- 
ally made by some hereditary trade or profession, which, 
as they say, no man can steal from them. The Damas- 
cene silversmiths are noted throughout the world for 
their fine work. On their stalls masses of rings, orna- 



46 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



merits and cups, chains and bracelets, flexible as silk, 
and jewelry of all sorts are piled in careless profusion. 
These are, as a rule, sold by weight. 

Here and there through the bazaars, Turkish baths 
are placed. They are large and well kept ; marbles of 
all colors covering floor, walls, and ceilings. Neither 
space nor expense has been spared, and in decoration 
and appointments they fulfil our Western ideal of Ori- 
ental magnificence. 

Other streets, short and detached, like the Silver- 
smiths', but more dimly lighted, are filled with antique 
Persian rugs, whose imperfections are hidden by the 
half-light. The heavy odor of gums and spices in these 
dim rooms reminds one of the fabled scents of " Araby 
the Blest." In other streets the bazaars are two stories 
high ; the upper floors are used more as storerooms than 
as shops. 

The second-hand goods quarter is one of the most 
interesting. Here wares of all sorts and descriptions, 
from sword-canes to shoe-laces, are sold ; some in the 
last stages of uselessness ; some, comparatively new. 

If the maxim "Caveat Emptor''' ever applies, it applies 
in Damascus ; the average tourist being fair game for 
the bazaar shopkeeper. How men could have the folly 
or the nerve to look calmly in a tourist's face and de- 
mand for some piece of merchandise five hundred per 
cent more than it is worth, and two hundred per cent 
more than they know they will receive, was always a 
mystery to me, until, some time later, in Jerusalem I 
heard an American say : — 

" I always give these fellows what they ask. It's 
cheaper in the end than bargaining with them." 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



47 



We Americans raise the price of everything, both in 
Europe and the East. Our proverb, " A fool and 
his money are soon parted," is also in vogue in the 
Orient. Only, the Easterners make an unimportant 
verbal change : " An American and his money are soon 
parted," " Traveling American " and " fool " being 
synonymous terms in their minds. Indeed, after watch- 
ing the wild antics of some of my fellow-countrymen 
in foreign lands, especially in money-matters, I fear the 
Aryan is not often wrong in his idea. We call them 
cheats ; but when a rich foreigner enters a bazaar, with 
royal contempt of expense graven on every inch of his 
frame, we can scarcely blame merchants for taking 
advantage of him. Wealthy Americans are of course 
justified in spending their money as they choose, but it 
is a little hard on poorer men who come after them. 

I had read several accounts of the Damascene bazaars, 
one or two of which had spoken of their gloom and 
dirt. I did not notice these defects myself. After the 
glare of the Syrian sun, it was pleasant to walk through 
their shaded streets, where sunlight only entered from 
small windows and crevices in the roof. The cool 
gloom, broken here and there by these bars of light, 
was decidedly refreshing. 

The bazaar streets themselves are constantly filled by 
people in every style and color of dress. Women are 
plentiful ; Jews and Christians leaving the face bare, 
while the wives of Mohammedans wear veils. Some- 
times, when a Moslem woman wishes to separate from 
her husband, she goes about the bazaars unveiled, hoping 
that she may be seen by some of his friends, who will 
report to him this shameless procedure, and thus may 



48 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



lead him to divorce her. The divorce among Moham- 
medans is a simple matter. Three short sentences from 
the husband, on &ny pretext whatever, divorce his wife 
as completely as any court in the land. 

Some husbands will not let their wives shop at the 
bazaars, but send servants who bring home samples from 
which the luckless wife may choose her dresses. The 
streets are thronged, and each bargain takes an inter- 
minable time. The shopkeeper is never anxious to 
wait on his customer, but sits passively and lets him 
choose for himself. It is only when a price is discussed 
that he comes out strongly. 

Donkeys, and even camels, are driven through these 
narrow streets (from twenty to twenty-five feet from 
side to side), a boy running ahead to force a passage 
through the crowd. 

We stopped to look at a ruined gateway leading out 
of one of the bazaars. This was arched over by a mono- 
lith, finely carved, and of Phoenician architecture. It 
has probably hung there for three thousand years. The 
supports have grown somewhat feeble, and it is not 
unlikely that some fine day the street beneath it will 
be enriched by a piece of beautifully carved stone, and 
impoverished by the loss of several shopkeepers. 

As we were looking at it, the man who kept the 
shop just in front spoke to Ayoub (my guide through 
Damascus). The two talked for a moment and then, 
turning to me, Ayoub said : — 

" He asked what we were looking at, and when I 
pointed it out to him, he said his shop had been in front 
of that for twenty years, and never before now had he 
seen or even heard of it." 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



49 



We passed on, and stopped to look at the ruins of the 
Great Mosque which had been burned two months 
before. This was the largest and most richly furnished 
of all the hundred and twenty mosques in Damascus. 
Several theories concerning the cause of its destruction 
are current. The Mohammedans say it was because 
Christian laborers were employed on it, and Heaven in 
anger at such sacrilege destroyed it by fire. The Chris- 
tians say it was lighted by burning solder which the 
workmen were too lazy to put out. Others say light- 
ning struck it. In any case, it is destroyed ; and every 
day crowds of men volunteer their services gratis to 
help rebuild it. The Sultan himself has given a large 
sum toward the cause. 

Leaving the bazaars, we came into a street that reaches 
to the eastern gate of the city. This street is lined 
with workshops and emporiums, where the bazaar 
goods are made and kept. Weavers, mother-of-pearl 
carvers, makers of inlaid work, shoemakers, and sad- 
dlers, all have their storing and manufacturing rooms 
here. Above are latticed bay windows, whence women's 
faces look down on the passers-by. 

" This is the street that is called Straight, mentioned 
in the Bible," said Ayoub, as we passed through it. " It 
is one of the oldest streets in the world." 

We came to the eastern gate of the city, and drove 
out into the open country. Damascus is surrounded 
by trees, walled gardens, orchards, and vineyards. 
Hills slope down toward it, and the river Abana flows 
through its center. It is well named the " Pearl of the 
East," for no other Eastern city can boast such sur- 
roundings and natural advantages. To the north, a day's 

E 



50 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



journey away, plainly visible from the high ground 
about the city, lies a strip of yellow sand, stretching as 
far as the eye can reach. This is the Great Syrian 
Desert, beyond which lies Persia. 

As we left the city, Ayoub pointed to a portion of the 

wall, near the gate. 



" That is the place," 
he said, " where St. 
Paul is believed to 
have been let down, 
when he escaped from 
Damascus. It is not 
certain, but it is gen- 
erally believed." 

Half a mile beyond, 
in an open space, was 
a caravan of nearly 
a hundred camels. 
These had crossed 
the desert from Bag- 
dad, laden with goods 
for Damascus. Cara- 
van camels, being 
desert-bred, are afraid 
of the town sights and noises ; so this space without 
the Avails is set apart for them while their freight is 
carried into the city. 

The journey by caravan from Bagdad to Damascus 
takes thirty-five days. The mail is carried by a trained 
dromedary, who makes the distance in ten days. It is a 
long and perilous trip, and the rider who guides the 
mail-dromedary is looked on as a hero. To an ignorant 




City Wall 



where St. Paul was let 

DOWN. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



51 



outsider, however, he seems merely a gorilla-like negro 
who would be much benefited by a bath. 

We turned back after inspecting the caravan, and 
reached the hotel in time for lunch. Ayoub told me on 




the way that, if agreeable to me, we would visit the 
Leper Settlement as soon as lunch was over. It was 
better, he said, to go there directly after eating. 



CHAPTER V. 



NAAMAN HOUSE OF LEPERS, DAMASCUS. 

n HE leprosy of to-day is not that men- 
tioned in the Old Testament. The an- 
cient form of leprosy is now only found 
among dumb animals. A Scotch 
doctor described the present form to 
me as " a mixture of chilblains, itch, 
and mortification," which is as good 
a definition as I know. It is not 
believed to be contagious, unless 
one is brought into close and con- 
stant association with lepers ; but 
is usually hereditary, often skipping 
several generations and then appear- 
ing in some unexpected quarter. 
Some physicians claim that it is caused by unwhole- 
some and dirty surroundings ; but it is generally 
believed to rise from some prenatal taint. It is 
slowly dying out in Syria, and is not seen there in 
as violent forms as in Japan and China. But for the 
fact that lepers are allowed to intermarry, the disease 
would doubtless have become already a thing of the 
past. 

It is first felt when the victim reaches the transition 
stage (at from twelve to fifteen years) between child- 

52 




SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



53 



hood and youth, continuing more or less rapidly to 
eat away the body, until some vital point is touched. 
Thus lepers may often live to middle age. The final 
outcome, however, is always the same. No patient 
was ever known to recover. Sometimes the extrem- 
ities are attacked first, the disease taking the form 
of chilblains ; in such cases, years may pass before 
the vitals are reached. Again, the spine or heart be- 
comes affected, causing almost instant death. When- 
ever the disease is found, its subject is immediately 
ostracized, and is henceforth forbidden to enter the 
city walls, or to mingle with former associates. 

No provision for these unfortunates is made by the 
government, their support depending on the charity 
of outsiders. Sometimes a wealthy man dies, and 
leaves a fortune or an orchard to be devoted to the 
use of lepers, for the repose of his soul. Men in less 
advanced stages of the disease are employed in the 
surrounding gardens and vineyards, and are allowed 
— a disgrace to the city where they live — to bake the 
dough kneaded at their own hovels in the public ovens. 

Near Jerusalem a leper hospital has been founded. 
Here, by the payment of a ridiculously small sum, 
lepers are maintained and their lives made as easy 
as possible. Few, however, take advantage of this. 
Knowing they can hope for no final cure, and hating 
the system of cleanliness and diet enforced in such 
an institution, they prefer to live by begging. 

The Naaman House of Lepers at Damascus is not 
a public institution, but is merely a place where Mos- 
lem lepers are allowed to lodge, being forced to live 
by individual charities. 



54 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



These facts I had learned before I visited the Naa- 
man House, and I did not look forward to my after- 
noon jaunt with much pleasure. We started directly 
after lunch, passed through the " Street that is called 
Straight " ; out of the eastern gate ; along an ill-kept 
road with an orchard wall on one side and on the 
other a ditch where lay the skeleton of a camel, and 




The Street that is called Straight. 



where two or three yellow stray dogs prowled about 
in search of some fresher carrion ; on to a collection 
of stone and plaster huts, surrounded by a yellow 
mud wall. The entrance to this clump of huts is a 
dilapidated gateway from which the gates have long 
since fallen. 

Leaving the carriage, Ayoub led me through a 
short courtyard to a passageway between two huts, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



55 



whence we came out into a small enclosure. Here 
was the Naaman House of Lepers. It is not a single 
house, but a collection of squalid huts, one story 
high ; most of them windowless ; each with a single 
wooden door. These are unfurnished, save for ragged 
mats that serve as beds. The floors are covered with 
dirt and bits of rotten vegetables, meat, and bread 
left from the inmates' meals. The odor inside of the 
huts is foul beyond description. They face an uneven 
paved court about thirty-five feet square. At one end 
of this court, opposite the entrance passageway, is a 
small wooden house with a thatched roof and a ve- 
randa. In this house lives the head of the lepers, — 
once a well-known man, but now old and confined to 
his bed. He lies in the one room the house boasts 
and rules over his fellow-sufferers. Filthy and repul- 
sive to look at, he yet passes an easy enough life, his 
only worries being the occasional visits of foreign 
doctors, who insist on examining him and asking ques- 
tions. His daughter and another woman (both lepers) 
live with him. 

On the ground of the yard, in the doorways, or hud- 
dled in the sunlight against the walls, crouched, that 
afternoon, a number of people, all in different stages of 
leprosy. Here were Damascenes wrapped in donated 
clothes that, here and there, bore traces of past finery ; 
Bedouins from the desert (sent here as soon as their 
disease broke out) still wearing kafiehs and abiehs, now 
soiled and ragged ; while wretched-looking nondescripts, 
in the last and most loathsome stages of the malady, lay 
swathed almost to the eyes, on the broken pavement. 

As we entered, most of them were lounging about the 



56 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



court in silence, but one or two talked in a dilatory 
way. Their voices were weak, rasping, and hoarse, 
sounding like an exaggerated imitation of a far-gone 
consumptive's voice, mingled with a certain unpleas- 
ant harshness such as few consumptives have. They 
spoke rapidly, as if trying to finish a sentence before 
they should be overtaken by a coughing-spell. In 
fact, their words were broken by coughs, and now and 
then one would be seized by a paroxysm of weak cough- 
ing, and would move away, trailing blots of dark blood 
as he went. 

The daughter of the head-man was at work on the 
veranda, and seeing us, called out in a shrill voice, in 
which a peculiar break was apparent, showing the disease 
had begun its work on her lungs, asking what we wanted. 
Ayoub replied that I was a foreign hakim (or physician) 
come to help them. She laughed mirthlessly, and said 
no one could help them but God Himself, and that His 
kindness did not extend to unclean lepers. 

"Do you wish to see anything more, sir?" asked 
Ayoub. 

" Yes," I answered, " I want to interview one of them 
if I can. There ! That big fellow with the Bedouin 
dress, for instance." 

Ayoub called the man, showing him some money; 
and the leper arose painfully and shuffled towards us. 
The lepers' motions cannot be dignified by the name of 
a walk ; they merely shuffle over the ground stiffly and 
awkwardly, with somewhat of the motion seen in old- 
fashioned sack races. 

The woman on the veranda screamed to him not to 
speak to us ; and through all the rest of our stay never 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



57 



ceased to scream out curses at him for coming to us, 
curses at the other lepers for allowing us to stay, and 
curses at us — including in these all our ancestors and 
possible descendants — for our intrusion. Occasionally, 
a feebler but more rasping voice came from the room 
where the head-man lay. The other lepers eyed us most 
unfavorably, some of them slouching out of sight 
around corners, and others covering their faces. 

The man we had called up stood sullenly before us ; 
nothing but the hope of unlimited backsheesh inducing 
him to answer our questions. He was about forty years 
old, and, except for pain-distorted features and twisted 
fingers, looked fairly sound. His voice was like that 
of all the others. I give here a free translation of the 
interview. We asked how long he had been a leper, 
and he answered : — 

" Ever since I was fourteen." 

" Do most people get the disease at that age ? " 

" They feel it first about that time." 

" Do you suffer much ? " 

" Only in cold weather. Then the cold stings our 
sores, and we are in agony." 
" What do you do all day ? " 
" We sit in the sun." 
" Do you work ? " 

" No ; why should I ? I am fed. I am clothed," 
" You are content then ? " 

" I am not unhappy. My life is easy, except in cold 
weather." 

" How long do lepers generally live ? " 
" I do not know. As Allah wills. The head-man is 
over fifty." 



58 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" How many of you are there here ? " 

" Twenty-eight now. There used to be forty-one." 

" What do you do for amusement? " 

The fellow looked puzzled ; the word " amusement " 
was evidently unknown in his vocabulary. The others 
by this time had begun to mutter hoarsely, and looked 
threateningly at us. The woman on the veranda con- 
tinued her volley of shrill curses, the head-man's voice 
filling up all pauses in a growling undertone. The 
interviewed man, either fearing his companions' anger 
when we should be gone, or growing impatient at 
my long catechism, grew angry and refused to say 
more. 

Ayoub gave him a mejidie (eighty-five cents), and we 
left, the virago's voice following us to the carriage and 
far down the road. 



CHAPTER VI. 



HOUSE OF RICH DAMASCENE JEW — DAMASCUS 

MASSACRE. 

ROM the outside it looked like a 
dozen other houses in the narrow, 
winding street ; the front having a 
dingy, ill-kept air. We knocked 
at the low door, and were admitted 
by a gorgeously liveried porter, 
who ushered us into a small, dark 
corridor. Opening on this corri- 
dor were several little rooms, with 
the usual sleeping-mat on the floor. 
These rooms were used as sleeping- 
places for servants and for such 
messengers from a distance as were 
obliged to stay in town all night. 
It was doubtless in some such lodging that the Hittite 
captain lay, when, recalled from the field, he foolishly 
" slept at the door of the king's house with all the serv- 
ants of his lord, and went not down to his house ; " an 
act of fidelity that cost him his life. 

Crossing the corridor, we came into the court around 
which the house was built. Here for the first time 
(except at Turkish baths) I saw the fabled Oriental 
magnificence. The court in which we found ourselves 

59 




60 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



was paved with white marble and surrounded by walls 
of black and white stone. A fountain, shaded by blos- 
soming orange trees, played in the center, the breeze 
throwing a silvery spray half-way across the marble 
pavement. The orange blossoms were fragrant, and an 
atmosphere of drowsy coolness filled the whole place. 
Beside the fountain stood a tall, dark-eyed slave-girl, 




House of Rich Jew. 



with a Greek or Circassian face, dressed in a long robe 
of some clinging, white material, her sandaled feet half- 
hidden by its folds. She held a tray on which were 
glasses and a decanter of mastic (a colorless Syrian 
drink, like anisette); and on the ground beside her 
were two nargilehs. I had scarcely seen her when the 
master of the house came forward to greet us. He was 
one of the richest men in Damascus, and a Jew. I shall 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



61 



call him " Ismail." His real name is too well known in 
Syria to mention here. 

Catching sight of the camera my guide held, he struck 
an attitude and, throwing one corner of his robe over 
his shoulder, said in broken English : — 

" Monsieur wishes to take me the picture ? " 

The camera was empty, but I went through the 
motions of taking a snap-shot ; and then explained to 
him the working of the machine ; delighting him with 
inverted views of his own courtyard. 

I had been e\ ,ected, the mastic and nargilehs having 
been prepared beforehand. My host, after examining the 
camera, led the way to his " winter parlor," as he called 
it. The floor of this was of black-and-white marble. 
From the door and running to the opposite wall, was 
a space about five feet wide, where the floor was on a 
level with the outside court and doorway. This space 
was unfurnished, and it is here guests take off their 
shoes. As a foreigner, I was luckily exempt from this 
custj/ 1. 

A platform three feet high formed the flooring of the 
rest of the room. This platform, a room by itself, was 
heavily carpeted in soft rugs, and furnished (shades of 
Mohammed !) with a regulation " parlor set " of pale 
blue silk upholstered furniture, evidently imported 
from Paris or London. About the wall, however, ran a 
low Eastern divan, which partially atoned for the glar- 
ing chairs and sofa. The walls had a groundwork of 
colored marble, but were paneled with inlaid mother-of- 
pearl and ivory. A heavy chandelier hung from one 
end of the carved ceiling, and long mirrors stood every- 
where. 



62 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



In a corner at the back of the room was a bookcase 
that held a strange conglomeration of volumes : Mille- 
et-Une-Nuits ; Arabic tomes; English and French 
works ; but foremost and evidently most used were 
copies of Rousseau. I believe that I studied Rousseau 
in college, but I had long since forgotten his teachings. 
Still I saw here common ground to work on, so, calling 
my host's attention to the books, I declared they were 
my favorites, and we were soon deep in a discussion 
of the theories of the great Jean-Jacques. I found that 
Ismail's English was less than limited, so we chose 
French as a medium of speech. I quite won his heart 
by being thoroughly beaten in the argument. Indeed, 
considering I had not the remotest knowledge of the 
subject, my defeat is hardly to be wondered at. 

My declaration that I was unable to contend against 
such an homme des lettres as he evidently was, completed 
the conquest ; and, charmed with his easy victory over 
a foreigner, he himself proposed what I had longed to 
ask, — that he should show me over his house. 

Recrossing the court, we came to the " summer par- 
lor," — I use Ismail's terms, — which was twice as large 
as the room we had left, the lower floor being about 
ten feet wide, with a fountain in the center. Two plat- 
forms, one on each side, rose from this, furnished like 
that in the winter parlor. On a wall shelf stood fragile 
vases and antique pottery (Ismail is a famous collector 
of such things), and the walls were paneled, like the 
others we had seen. Directly over the fountain hung 
a chandelier ; thus placed that its light might be re- 
flected by the water. 

We visited several other rooms : sleeping-rooms 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



63 



(these were on the floor above), dining-room, etc. A 
sort of summer house opened on the court. This was 
built in on three sides, the fourth being entirely open 
to the air. The walls were formed of three large mir- 
rors, the floor was mosaic, the ceiling frescoed and in- 
laid; a low stone bench covered with carved figures 
served as a divan. 

Next to this was the synagogue. Most wealthy Jews 
have a private synagogue, and a rabbi who officiates 
there at stated times. This synagogue was the most 
plainly furnished room in the house. The furniture 
consisted of a few wooden benches and a reading-desk. 
On the walls hung two cheap, uncolored French prints : 
one representing Ishmael and Hagar; the other, Ruth 
and Naomi. These, except for an oil painting repre- 
senting Ismail in his uniform of foreign ambassador, 
were the only pictures in the house. Two cupboards 
were let into the walls and held two religious books ; 
one, a part of the Old Testament, the other the Talmud. 
These works were written on huge parchment rolls, 
fastened within gem-studded silver cylinders. One 
servant is hired merely to guard these cylinders and to 
keep them in proper order. As the servant is a Jew, 
he treats the holy rolls with great respect, and, unable 
to steal any of the gems, guards the cylinders jealously. 

The synagogue ended our tour of inspection. We 
went back to the winter parlor and lounged on the 
divans, to recuperate from our exertion. When the 
nargilehs and mastic glasses were refilled, I asked 
Ismail how he passed his days, and if life ever grew 
monotonous in such surroundings. 

" I usually rise at seven," he said ; " I pray and read 



64 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



religious 1 books for an hour. Then I breakfast, and 
during the morning I attend to whatever business I 
may have in the city. After that I sleep, read Rous- 
seau, entertain or visit my friends, and pass the day as 
my fancy directs. Sometimes in the evening I receive ; 
sometimes I go to the houses of others. We are not 
energetic here." 

" You must be a very happy man," I said, as he fin- 
ished. 

I meant it. A quiet, sensuous life ; nargilehs and 
mastic ad libitum, consumed among orange-blossoms, 
with the cool plash of the fountain always sounding ; 
no hurrying, no business troubles, and plenty of sleep — 
all offer strong attractions to a traveler fresh from the 
land whose motto is " Man was made to hustle." 

But the Jew thought otherwise. 

" Happy ! " he exclaimed, with a portentous sigh. 
" Ah, monsieur, it is not at all as it seems." 

Then without waiting to be questioned, he plunged 
into a long recital of his grievances, whose substance 
seemed to be that he was being ruined because of an 
unjust debt, and that although he was a British sub- 
ject, the English government refused to protect him. 
He asked if I would not write to the government about 
it when I returned to England, and said he was sure if 
I wrote often enough, — half as often as he had written, 
— the matter would be taken up ; he would receive 
justice ; he would be my debtor forever, etc. 

When, at last, we had bowed ourselves out of the 
courtyard and bidden farewell to the dissatisfied lord 
of the mansion, I asked Ayoub how much truth there 
was in the tale of woe I had just heard. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



65 



"No truth at all," was his response. "Old Ismail 
owed the money to our government and didn't want to 
pay it, so he appealed to England for redress, and at 
the same time tried secretly to compromise with the 
Sultan's agent, playing one nation off against the 
other. But both nations found out the scheme, and 
refused to help him ; so now he will be sold out, — what 
you call ruined. It is but right, for our government has 
been most just and merciful toward him. It is his own 
fault. Now, his house and all his furniture must go to 
pay the debt." 

" But what will become of him? " I inquired. 

"Of Ismail? Oh, he will go to the devil." 

I was going to inquire more as to the route our 
Hebrew friend expected to take on this oft-traveled 
journey, but Ayoub went on : — 

" Ismail was one of the men who was made rich by 
the massacre. You see, Christians and Jews alike lost 
all their property then. Their houses were burned, their 
money was stolen. The government was indignant, 
and, after stopping the pillage, ordered restitution for 
every one who had been injured or robbed. Now, Ismail 
and a lot of other Jews who had never been rich came 
forward and swore that they had been robbed of great 
fortunes ; that their fathers and brothers who had been 
killed in the massacre had also been rich, and they, as 
heirs, presented claims for all the wealth. Our gener- 
ous government paid whatever sums were demanded; 
and in that way many people who had never had money 
before, suddenly became very rich." 

I recalled a number of shrewd Hebraic bargains I 
had witnessed in the Occident, but could find none that 



66 



SYBIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



compared with this fashion of using one's murdered 
family and friends as a stepping-stone to fortune. 

I think I break none of the laws of etiquette existing 
between guest and host in thus writing of Ismail. He 
admitted me to his house (as he himself said) in order 
that I might tell others in what style he lived, and in 
the hope that I might help him publish an unjust claim 
against his government. And I believe I have granted 
both wishes. 

" Were you in Damascus at the time of the massacre ? " 
I asked Ayoub, as we drove back to the hotel. " I've 
heard references to it ever since I came to Syria, but I 
know nothing definite, except that most of the Christians 
were killed. Had you any friends who suffered by it? " 

" My father and both my elder brothers were killed 
then, besides all my other male relatives," replied 
Ayoub simply. 

" Do you remember it? " 

"Yes. I was ten years old at the time. No woman 
or girl was injured ; my mother dressed me like a girl, 
and forbade me to speak. So they passed me by. 

"For months beforehand the noblemen here had been 
sending secret word into the country and the desert, 
calling on all good Moslems to gather at Damascus 
to destroy the Christians and Jews. They marked out 
houses ; and all was done so quietly that we suspected 
nothing until the massacre began. Three men whom my 
father had once released from prison tried to save our fam- 
ily. For three days they stood before our door, and told 
their friends we were Mohammedans and not Christians. 

" All this time houses were burned, and Christians 
murdered. Our relatives found out that our house alone 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



67 



was protected ; so they escaped at night, by roofs and 
secret ways, and came to us for safety, until in our one 
house there were twenty-six souls. 

" When it was rumored about the city that Ayoub 
and a number of Christians were hiding in the house, 
a crowd gathered at our door. The three men who 
protected my father tried to send them away ; but some 
Bedouins from the other side of the Dead Sea, being 
mad with slaughter, drew their swords and rushed at 
the house. Then the three men saw they could do no 
more, so they stood aside, and the crowd poured in, and 
killed all the men and boys we had with us. 

" The son of my uncle lay dying of fever in an upper 
room, and his mother threw herself on him as the 
murderers came up the stairs, and caught hold of one 
of their guns. But they struck her hand so heavily 
with a hammer that her fingers were smashed, and she 
let go. Then, before her eyes, they beat her son's brains 
out with the butt of the gun. Except for her, I have 
heard that no woman received any hurt." 

" Did the Turkish government know of the massacre 
beforehand ? " I asked. 

" No ; as soon as they heard the news, they put a stop 
to all pillage and murder, and paid for all the stolen 
property, more than enough in some cases, like Is- 
mail's, and — do you see those trees on the other 
side of the road?" pointing to a line of great trees 
whose limbs stretched far over the street. " For weeks 
the nobles who planned the massacre hung on those 
trees. I saw them every day, as I passed. That was 
justice ; they deserved it ; but," hesitatingly, " it didn't 
make my father and brothers alive again." 



CHAPTER VII. 

HORSE MARKET — CALL TO PRAYER — AGAIN IN THE 

SADDLE. 

BREAKFASTED early the next 
morning; we were to start across 
country that afternoon, and the camp 
equipment had already gone on. I 
sat in the arched gateway of the 
hotel, smoking an after-breakfast 
pipe, and watching the few signs of 
life in the hot dusty road before me 
— a stray cur or two asleep in the 
sun; a passing Bedouin; a group of 
beggars hugging the shady strip near 
the hotel wall — when David hurried 
up to me and said : — 
" There is a fight over at the horse market, sir. If 
you will come quickly, we may be in time to see it." 

He handed me my pith helmet as he spoke, and led 
the way toward the Abana. As we reached the river, 
we saw a string of camels plodding slowly along on the 
opposite side, and a woman wringing out clothes under 
the shade of a discouraged-looking sapling. These were 
the only signs of life that broke the monotony of the hot 
Eastern day. Nothing could be less suggestive of a fight. 
A few steps brought us to a turn in the road, and 

68 




SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



69 



there in front of us was a sight that to my uninitiated 
eyes looked like Bedlam on a holiday. We stood at 
the entrance of a large square, about the size of a city 
block. This was filled with horses, mules, and donkeys, 
and with all sorts and conditions of men, from the 
Bedouin who had journeyed from the Land of Moab 
to sell a stolen horse, to the fat little Damascene shop- 
keeper, haggling over the price of a mangy donkey. 

The square was alive with excitement. The grave, 
indolent Oriental is rightly spoken of as the perfect type 
of calmness, but, when roused by anger or bargaining, 
he far outstrips his Western brother in demonstration. 
Men rode shouting through the crowd, others caught 
at the reins, or seized the riders' beards, while here and 
there small groups were engaged in a deadly wrestle, 
or screamed curses at each other. 

I was delighted. 

" This is better than an Irish fair," I called to David, 
who had been making some inquiries. " It is the best 
fight I ever saw. How many do you suppose are killed ? " 

The dragoman looked at me wonderingly. 

" Why, the fight was all over before we got here, sir. 
Both men were arrested by the soldiers.'' 

I stared at him a moment, thinking he was jesting. 
But the broad smile that always went with his jokes 
was absent. Turning once more to the howling, seeth- 
ing crowd, I asked: — 

" But what are they doing now ? " 

" J ust bargaining for some horses. It is quieter than 
usual, for they were frightened by the soldiers." 

When at last I saw he was in earnest, and it dawned 
on me that this was merely a peaceful market-day scene 



70 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

and not a wholesale murder, I asked for some explana- 
tion of the mode of bargaining. As I could not grasp 
the whole idea at once, I picked out separate groups, 
and David told me what each was doing. 

The process of Damascene horse-trading, as nearly as 
I could gather, is this : on certain days, any man 
wishing to buy or sell a horse comes to this square. 
If he is a seller, he employs a broker. The broker 
mounts the horse for sale, and, riding up and down, 
shouts the beast's many virtues, ending the catalogue 
with an offer to sell it at some fabulous price. If no 
purchaser is found, this harangue falls flat ; but if one 
or more men like the horse's looks, they follow the 
broker on his ride, and when they hear the price 
named, set up a howl of mingled execration and aston- 
ishment, swearing by all their ancestors, by the beard 
of the Prophet, by the memory of their fathers, and 
even by Allah himself, that it is an outrage to ask so 
exorbitant a price for such a worthless and ill-looking 
little horse. 

To these expostulations the broker shrieks back that 
they have now the chance of a life-time, and im- 
plores them to name some price for themselves, since 
they are too poor or too stingy to pay the just value. 
Whereat some member of the party names a sum that 
may or may not be fair. With a horrified yell, that 
puts to shame all former efforts (his voice being better 
trained), the broker calls on the Prophet, the Patri- 
archs, and any other worthies he can recall, to witness 
the insult put on him by so meager an offer. The 
noble beast he has now the bliss of riding is worth four 
times as much money. Bystanders without a penny 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 71 

in their purses join in the dispute, one siding with 
the broker, another with the would-be purchasers. 

The number of bargainers, after a long and exciting 
argument, dwindles down to one, and the broker, dis- 
mounting, goes to look up the horse's owner. This 
worthy has hitherto taken no part in the transaction, 
saving his forces for after-use. The broker, having 
found him, announces the price agreed on, and tries 
to join the hands of buyer and seller by way of seal- 
ing the bargain. But this is by no means the easiest 
part of the trade. The seller evinces surprise, even 
horror, that so low a sum (which, by the way, is prob- 
ably more than he commissioned the broker to accept) 
has been offered. He is at last induced by the broker's 
prayerful entreaty to accept it, when suddenly the buyer, 
who has stood passive during the last conversation, de- 
clares the broker has lied, and that no such preposterous 
figure was agreed on. The seller, hearing this, stiffens, 
and returns to his former high price ; whereupon the 
long-suffering broker, seizing a hand of each, shrieks 
entreaties at one and threats at the other, mingled 
with hopes that the Prophet may curse his beard if 
he cheats either. The men now and then withdraw 
their hands to show how little they care whether the 
trade is struck or not ; but at last, through sheer 
fatigue, let them lie quietly in the broker's grasp. 
Then the sale is made, and in a quiet, matter-of-fact 
way the chief actor turns his back on them both and 
looks for some new horse to sell. 

The performance I have just described is not a spec- 
ial case. Fifty such scenes are acted at once in the 
horse market, to say nothing of outside efforts. The 



72 SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

Orientals, for an indolent people, take a great deal of 
unnecessary trouble. For instance, buyer, seller, and 
broker know from the first, to within a few shillings, 
what money a horse will bring, and two minutes' 
quiet talk would arrange it all. From simple custom, 
however, one has named a price he knows no one 
will accept; the other has beaten him down, penny 
by penny, to the prix juste, and an hour or more of 
precious time has been thrown away. But as time 
is the very cheapest of Eastern commodities, no one 
feels the loss, — injured lungs and arms half-shaken 
from the sockets being, I suppose, minor details. 

The silent street was a grateful change from the 
horse-market babel; and we stepped across to a little 
open-air cafe built over the river to refresh ourselves 
with nargilehs and coffee before going to lunch. We 
sat there until noon ; when the muezzins came out 
on their minarets to call the faithful to prayer. This 
is a ceremony performed several times a day, and, as 
far as I could judge, is for the most part disregarded 
by the faithful. The muezzin comes out on the little 
gallery of each minaret, like the cuckoo in a Swiss 
clock, and, with a voice more or less sweet, but always 
powerful, gives the call to prayer. Heard from a dis- 
tance, the hundred and twenty voices chanting in unison 
sounded sweetly enough, but nearer by it was awful. 
The words to the call are as follows : — 

" Allah hu akbar ! 
La ilia ilia Allah; 
Siadnah Mohammed Rasoul Allah ; 
Hayah allah II Salah, 
Hayah allah II Fallah ! ? ' 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



73 



Which being interpreted is : — 

" God is great. 
There is but one God. 

Our lord, Mohammed, is his apostle (or prophet). 

Come to prayers ! 
Attend to your devotions ! " 

Each phrase is repeated twice, in a slow, sing-song 
fashion ; then the whole chant is sung once more, — 
this time faster and less distinctly. 

We were to leave Damascus and civilization at two 
that afternoon. I had finished lunch and was directing 
a letter for the next day's steamer from Beirut, when 
I heard a knock at my door. A gorgeously appareled 
being entered, and I looked twice before I recognized, 
under the folds of a purple and gold silk kafieh, 
David's face. Up to this time he had dressed quietly 
in the street dress of a Syrian gentleman, but he was 
now arrayed in full dragoman costume. The kafieh 
covered his head and shoulders, falling far down his 
back ; a short embroidered jacket of bright blue opened 
in front to disclose a many-hued silk vest; Turkish 
trousers, colored like the jacket, and a pair of glisten- 
ing boots completed his dress. The whole outfit was 
set off by a yellow leather belt from which hung a 
revolver and a long saber with a curiously carved old 
blade. 

A foreigner would have looked ridiculous in such a 
rig, but it sat well on Jamal. I have seldom seen a 
more picturesque or striking figure than the dragoman's, 
as he stood, framed in the doorway, waiting for me to 
get ready. 



74 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

My own attire was far less brilliant and becoming. I 
had adopted the silk kafieh, which I have found for all 
weathers the easiest, most comfortable headdress im- 




DAVID JAMAL. 



aginable, a flannel hunting-shirt, riding-trousers, and 
high boots. To these I had added, by David's advice, 
a pistol belt. Fully equipped, I looked like something 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 75 

between an Arab and a cowboy — a combination of East 
and West. 

I felt my insignificance by comparison as I followed 
David's glorified form down the stairway and into the 
street, where a crowd of loungers was gathered to see 
us off. The horses awaited us, saddled, the light of com- 
ing battle shining in Massoud's big eyes. Ayoub and 
the hotel proprietor wished me bon voyage, then, turning 
to David, kissed him on both cheeks, the regulation 
Oriental greeting of farewell between friends. I was 
sorry to leave the Hotel Dimitri, for they had given me 
excellent fare and service. Such accommodations are 
not to be despised in a half-barbarous land. 




Our Camp. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



ACROSS COUNTRY — CAMP LIFE. 




E started on a road that ran along the 
Abana, and traveled southwest. 

This afternoon's ride was the last ex- 
perience we were to have with regular 
highways for several weeks. I did not 
know this, or I should not have grum- 
bled so much at the occasional hollows 
and boulders that blocked our passage. 
For, compared to the paths and the so- 
called roads we were to traverse before 
reaching Jerusalem, this was a veritable descensus Averni. 

Plans have been made for building a regular carriage 
road from Damascus to Jerusalem ; but at present, like 
another much-talk ed-of thoroughfare, it is paved only 
with good intentions. 

After a few preliminary kicks and sudden turnings, 
Massoud settled down to regular travel, and I was able 
to enjoy the ride. We galloped a good part of the way, 
as we wanted to reach camp by sunset. David and I 

76 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



77 



rode abreast, and a groom followed, carrying my camera. 
This groom is worth a few words of description, for he 
was a type in himself. 

Serkeese (accent on the last syllable) was his name. 
He was about twenty-eight, and unmarried. He had no 
home, but slept in the stables of his successive employers. 
In appearance, he was of middle height, with small twin- 
kling eyes and an inquisitive little face, light as a Euro- 
pean's and bounded on the north — or top — by a thick 
fringe of uncombed hair that grew nearly to his eyes ; a 
short scrubby beard covered his lower face. He always 
reminded me of some South African monkey — genus 
unknown. Unlike most Syrians, he was restless and 
nervous, shifting constantly in his saddle, and almost 
always engaged either in droning a tuneless native song, 
or emitting a hideous war-whoop to encourage his horse. 
I became used to him after a time, although at first his 
scream, sounding through the desert stillness, was a bit 
startling. He had picked up four foreign words : " bon 
jour " and " good morning." The exact meaning of 
these words, except that they were a form of salutation, 
he did not know ; but he was very proud of his linguistic 
acquirement, and would string together all four words, 
regardless of the time of day, whenever a foreigner 
saluted him. 

" He is silly in his mind," David once explained to me, 
" but he makes a good groom, and he is kind to the 
horses." 

On our route that day we passed a pile of stones which 
marks the traditional burial place of Nimrod, the mighty 
hunter. The broad plain surrounded by mountains that 
still teem with game is a fitting resting-place for such 



78 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

a man — if indeed he sleeps there. Tradition in the 
Occident is solid fact compared with Oriental traditions 
that weight each hill, tree, and rock with sacred story. 

A little before sunset we neared the village of Katana, 
where Paul is believed to have seen the great Light. 
This location is, like Nimrod's grave, traditional, but as 




Bedouins near the Grave of Nimrod. 



Katana has always been the last stopping-place between 
J erusalem and Damascus, and is on the Roman route be- 
tween the two cities, there may be some truth in the story. 

Riding on, we mounted a small hill, and, just beyond 
us in the valley below, we saw our camp. This consisted 
of three large tents, and, farther on, a rope stretched 
along the ground, to which the horses and mules were 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



79 



tied. Above the central tent fluttered an American 
flag, and we fired a'salute to it as we cantered down the 
slope. The Turkish flag — white star and crescent on 
red field — was raised over another tent, in honor of 
the Sultan and the native government. 

The sun was setting as we reached camp. Several 
men came forward to take our horses, and as I looked 
around, I noticed a general air of comfort and activity 
that pervaded the place. Muleteers were busy feeding 
and littering down their animals ; the cook, a stout 
little Armenian who rejoiced in the picturesquely Ori- 
ental name of John, leaned over a brazier, cooking 
dinner, and Imbarak, the waiter, a slender, solemn 
being, over six feet four in height, was carrying a 
tray of coffee and biscuits to a little table that stood 
beside a canvas lounging-chair at the door of my tent. 

After finishing this refreshment, I entered the tent 
and found my luggage already arranged there. I had 
had some vague idea, based on former experience in 
camping among the woods in northern America, that 
I should have to sleep on a blanket laid over green 
boughs, with my feet to the fire. But I was quite 
mistaken. David, as I have said, had reduced the 
discomforts of camping to a minimum. I found my 
tent walls lined with Egyptian tapestry, the floor 
covered with two thicknesses of heavy Persian rugs, 
and the furniture similar to that in an average hotel 
room, even down to the looking-glass, in which I saw 
a decidedly hot and dust-begrimed face. 

After bathing and exchanging my riding-suit for 
something less barbarous, I went out to examine the 
rest of the camp. 



80 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



The dining-tent stood nearest to mine, and was 
similarly lined and carpeted, a lounge, a dining-table, 
and several chairs of different sizes and patterns com- 
pleting the furniture. Beyond this was the kitchen 
tent, where a mysteriously built brazier was presided 
over by the aforenamed John, who was, by the way, a 
former pupil of a famous French chef. At the back of 
the tent were mattresses where some of the men were 
to sleep. I next visited the horses who stood in a 
long line beside the rope. Most of them were eating 
quietly ; Massoud and a mule, however, were having 
some sort of a row, and my mount's heels were playing 
a tattoo against the mule's head and side. When he 
became tired, his victim began to retaliate. Neither 
seemed to mind it, and the kicking was not hard, being 
more playful than vicious. 

By the time I had finished my round of inspection, 
dinner was ready, and another of my camp illusions 
was dispelled. I had memories of a board nailed 
between two trees at which I had often partaken of 
sodden biscuit and half-raw fish, my surroundings seen 
dimly through clouds of mosquitoes and black flies. 
That had been in a civilized country, with cities and 
farm houses near by. What could I expect here in 
the wilderness? What I expected I do not remember, 
but what T got was a six-course dinner with very fair 
wine, the meal beginning with consomme, and ending 
with black coffee and Damascus bon-bons. This was 
the last sort of dinner one would look for in the wilds, 
and shows that even the East has made some advance 
in the culinary line since the days when Moses and his 
followers gathered manna, " an omer for every man." 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



81 



Throughout my journey I had as elaborate a dinner 
each evening ; sometimes being served with a veritable 
Parisian meal, and sometimes with samples of Oriental 
cookery. The "red pottage," a soup with lentils, like 
that for which Esau sold his birthright, was one of our 
most frequent dishes. This is still a favorite soup 
among the Easterners. I have eaten it in Bedouin 
camps, at hotels, and at private houses. The recipe is 
no doubt unchanged since the days of Jacob. 

After dinner I had a sea chair carried outside and 
lay in it at full length, with a pipe of strong Turkish . 
tobacco between my teeth, looking up at the stars, and 
giving myself over to the unequaled delight of a lazy 
smoke after a long day's exercise and a heavy dinner. 

The stars are more brilliant in Syria than in lands 
farther north. One star especially, Arcturus, I think, 
outshone the rest, and even cast a faint shadow. It 
reminded me somehow of the Star of Bethlehem. 

Across the plain came a succession of short, sharp yelps 
from a pack of jackals, varied at times by the louder howl 
of a wolf or the prolonged wailing laugh of hyenas 
fighting far up among the mountains over the carcase 
of camel or horse. We always hired men from the 
villages near which we stopped to guard our camp at 
night ; so there was little fear of a close approach from 
our savage neighbors. 

David, after he had finished dinner, which he ate 
alone, used to bring a chair out beside me, for an after- 
dinner talk. I always drew him out and got him to 
tell me stories. Fine stories they were, too, some of 
them. Adventures of his youth before the country 
became so safe for travelers ; Bedouin stories, native 

G 



82 



SYBIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



superstitions and legends, and histories of the great 
warriors who once lived in the desert. 

Then he would sing in his deep, strong voice, Bedouin 
love and war songs, translating each verse as he went 
on. I never tired of listening to him, and of finding 
there are some things that even a college education and 
enlightened surroundings cannot teach one. So the 
evenings wore away, and I heard, as if the story were of 
some other world, the lives and adventures of men who 
lived as Nature made them before European customs 
weakened the power of the East. 

Jamal's stories and songs, should I write them down 
here, without the setting of the Syrian night in the 
wilderness, the camp-fire's glow on the dark expressive 
face, and the accompanying rise and fall of the earnest 
voice, would fall utterly flat ; yet they were anything 
but flat to me at the time. 

That first night I turned in early and went to sleep 
almost immediately. Sleeping in a tent is apt to cause 
restlessness until one is used to it. This is caused, per- 
haps, by the different atmosphere, or by the ease with 
which noises from without are heard. I awoke at mid- 
night and lay listening to the yelping and growling of 
the jackals and wolves, who had drawn much nearer. 
A hyena on the hill just above our camp started his hor- 
rible laugh, which is a long wail broken by a peculiar 
catch of the breath that makes it sound like hysterical 
laughter. The horses were still munching hay or jin- 
gling the chains at their feet; through the opening at 
my tent door I could see the old men who guarded 
us, huddled together around the smouldering camp fire, 
wrapped in dark cloaks, and whispering and chuckling 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



83 



to each other, their long gray beards wagging oddly in 
the half-light. They looked for all the world like the 
witches in Macbeth. 

I went to sleep in a few moments, and slept until 
about three o'clock, when I was awakened by something 
that seemed to brush heavily against the side of the tent 
near my head ; this was followed by a sound as of some 
one beside me sobbing and sighing. I struck a match, 
but the tent was empty, except for myself. Looking 
outside, I saw the guards sleeping beside the dead fire, 
but no sign of the man or beast who could have brushed 
my tent. The stars were beginning to pale, and the 
dawn wind had sprung up. Perhaps this wind had 
caused the sounds that awoke me. When I went back 
to my tent, I heard the sobbing sound near me at inter- 
vals, but I was too sleepy to notice it long. I have 
long since given up trying to explain or even to wonder 
at the unnatural sounds and sensations that belong to a 
night in the Syrian desert and wilderness. Many things 
that would, among us, be regarded as unnatural and 
ghostly occur commonly there, and one becomes used to 
it all. It is needless to cite the many well-known cases 
of so-called "supernatural" experiences met with at 
night in " desert places." They cease to disturb, after 
the first night or so. When I awoke again, it was in 
response to the call of Imbarak the mournful, who came 
to inform me that it was " six heures et demie, and 
breakfast was ready." 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE "ARYAN BROWN " — MARRIAGE CUSTOMS THE 

DRUSES. 

I went to breakfast, I saw that the 
kitchen tent was already struck, boxes 
were corded, and everything in prepa- 
ration for the day's march. The reg- 
ular continental dejeuner — oeufs au 
coq, rolls and coffee — finished, I sat 
down on the canteen chest, filled my 
pipe, and watched the work of pack- 
ing. In this task the true Oriental 
slowness comes out. A dozen natives 
made an hour's work of what four 
active Americans could have done in 
half the time. David did his best, 
but there was no hurrying them. By long and tedious 
experience I had learned not to worry over such things 
or to try to hasten my dark-skinned brethren's motions. 
For is not this warning set down in the works of a wise 
man who understood his subject ? — 

" It isn't good for the Christian's health 
To hustle the Aryan brown ; 
For the Christian riles and the Aryan smiles, 
And it weareth the Christian down. 

84 




SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



85 



And the end of that fight is a tombstone white 
With the name of the late deceased, 
And the epitaph drear, — ' A Fool lies here, 
Who tried to hustle the East.' " 

We did not wait for the work to be finished. When 
it was well under way, David left word as to what 
route we were to take, and gave Imbarak charge over 
the train ; then we went ahead, taking Serkeese with us. 

The country through which we rode during the morn- 
ing was thinly wooded, and, as the sun shone brightly, 
I began to think the difficulties of such travel had been 
exaggerated. True, the road had degenerated into the 
roughest of by-paths, and we had to ford two separate 
branches of the Pharpar ; but the air was cool, the 
horses were in good spirits, and the novelty of the 
experience interested me. 

At noon the heat became stronger and the breeze died 
away. We halted on a little hill just above a brook, and 
pitched our luncheon tent under a clump of trees. This 
luncheon tent was smaller than the regular tents of our 
camp, and the Cairene embroidery of its walls was 
varied by having two American flags worked into it. 
Below each flag was a motto beginning with " Bismil- 
lah." I do not remember the rest, as I only know 
enough Arabic to make myself thoroughly misunder- 
stood in that language. The meaning of the motto, 
however, was, " In the name of God let us enjoy life " 
— a gem of advice worth following. Mottoes and flags 
were David's own idea. 

When traveling in Europe one becomes heartily tired 
of seeing fellow- Americans make the eagle scream on 
all occasions, and of hearing them prove the manifest 



86 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



inferiority of Versailles and Venice, to Jackson Park 
and the World's Fair lagoon. From Americans of this 
class no doubt sprang the immortal Chicagoan who, vis- 
iting the World's Fair, asked an attendant " where the 
lagoons slept at night and who fed them ? " 




After Luncheon. 



Here in the East, the sight of the old flag was 
like a message from home. I have heard other Ameri- 
cans speak of this, and I believe the reason we love to 
see our flag in far lands is not because the sight stirs 
up our patriotism or our pride in our country, as a 
country, but because it brings to us thoughts of home, 
home and nation being two decidedly different things. 

Luncheon consisted of cold chicken, potted meats, sar- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



87 



dines, a bottle of Stora wine, bread, butter, and jam, with 
nuts, figs, and raisins for dessert. David, in setting the 
table, turned to me and said in a sorrow-laden voice : — 

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm afraid Imbarak forgot 
the wine to-day." 

The wine of the country, I may say here, must not 
be confounded with the beverages that go by that name 
in America. It is, in fact, little stronger than vinegar 
and water, and often quite as sour. The use of it is 
made necessary by the wretched state of the tanks and 
cisterns which are, in many parts of Syria, the only 
water supply. Even the few wells and springs of so- 
called living water are, as a rule, unwholesome and 
likely to cause diseases of various kinds, especially 
fevers. 

I was thirsty, and was about to complain of the care- 
lessness, when I noticed that the dragoman held his left 
hand behind him, and I saw a bottle neck peeping over 
his sword hilt. Catching the idea, I feigned deep wrath 
at the thoughtless Imbarak, saying that now I must go 
thirsty until night. Then after a long and diligent 
search, David pretended to find the missing bottle and 
held it up in triumph, whereat I was much relieved, and 
he laughed heartily over the joke. The thing was so 
simple that I laughed with him, and thereafter, bottle- 
losing was a daily occurrence. Each day Jamal would 
announce that he had spilled or forgotten the wine ; 
each day I would humor him by the same simulated 
anger ; invariably he would produce the bottle, and we 
would both laugh at a jest which, to him at least, never 
lost its pristine charm. The performance was silly 
enough per se ; but I thoroughly appreciated the 



88 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



thought that prompted it. The Aryan is not humorous 
as a rule; but I could see that David constantly cast 
about in his mind for something that should amuse me 
and lighten the monotony of our long days' marches. 
The wine-losing joke was his favorite, and amid our 
laughter I could not help feeling there was something 
almost pathetic in this dignified, courteous Syrian's 
efforts at entertainment. Yet, taken all in all, he was 
so far successful that during two months' daily compan- 
ionship with him I was never once bored, and of no 
other man living could I say that. 

Luncheon over, I gave what was left of the wine to 
Serkeese, and after half an hour's rest, during which 
the servants and baggage mules passed us, the luncheon 
tent was struck, and we moved on. 

During our afternoon ride the landscape changed. 
Trees were fewer, and at last disappeared altogether. 
Dry weeds, brown earth, and loose stones underfoot, and 
gray, rocky hillsides about us, took the place of grass 
and trees. This, with a few exceptions, was the gen- 
eral look of the country we passed through, until we 
reached Jerusalem. It seemed the very abomination of 
desolation ; the skeleton of a great land of the past, 
which can have no future. I have seen deserted sec- 
tions of land in America, but none that looked so abso- 
lutely lifeless or dreary as the gray wastes that stretched 
about me on my ride through Syria. To make matters 
still less cheerful, the sun hid itself, and the sky took on 
a sombre grayness that harmonized with the country. 

We rode on until nearly six, when, almost under our 
feet, we saw a village. This was Kefr Ha war. It was 
built into the side of the hill over which we were riding, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



89 



and, as it was of the same color as the stony ground, I 
did not know of its existence, until, as David pointed, I 
looked down and saw it beneath us not fifty yards away. 

All hillside villages in Syria are alike ; made up of 
gray stone or plaster huts, usually one-storied and one- 
roomed, with low, flat roofs of almost any convenient 
material, as stone, mud, or straw thatching, on which 
play swarms of unwashed, ragged children, and where 
in sunny weather scavenger dogs sleep. 

As we rode through the twisting path that served as 
main street and sewer for the place, children crawled 
down by hundreds, or so I thought, to stare at us. I 
never had seen so many children together before. Each 
house appeared to own about twenty, nearly all of the 
same size. They crowded us so closely that I had 
trouble to keep Massoud from treading on them. I 
fancied the place must be a great Oriental orphan 
asylum, but at that time I had had little experience 
with Syrian villages. 

We rode to the town threshing-floor, a flat piece of 
ground surrounded by a square of stones in the plain 
about a furlong beyond the last house, and found our 
tents already pitched. A crowd, largely made up of 
children, followed us and gathered in a ring about the 
camp ; the children soon came closer, nudging each 
other and chuckling with delight at so marvelous a 
spectacle. Now the young of our species are particu- 
larly distasteful to me, and I told* David so. He, in 
turn, made a few remarks to some men in the crowd, 
and the children were forthwith corralled and driven off. 

Usually, when we camped near a village the inhabi- 
tants showed little interest, seldom visiting us except 



90 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



as guards or sellers of provisions and curios. We relied 
largely on the places we passed for food. Chickens are 
the main meat diet among the peasants, and these, as 
well as fresh eggs, could be bought anywhere. When 
the guides and provisions had been chosen, and the 
curio sellers put to flight, we were, as a rule, left undis- 
turbed. But here the ring of rustics hung about until 
late in the evening. 

As David and I sat over our after-dinner smoke the 
dragoman said, — 

" There are many people here now who live elsewhere. 
A wedding is held to-night about ten miles away, and 
to-morrow morning the bride with her escort will pass 
by here on her way home. People have come in from 
the neighborhood to see her. It is a common custom 
among the Mohammedans and Druses." 

" This is a Druse village, then ? " I asked. 

" Yes, sir. They are a strange people, the Druses, and 
they have a secret religion. Did you ever hear of it? " 

I had heard of it, and was much interested in a people 
that can, under a foreign government, make themselves 
and their religion respected. 

The Druses are easily recognized by certain marks : 
one, the universal custom of painting the edges of their 
eyelids dark blue, and another the plain white bands of 
their turbans. The mysteries of their religion are 
known only to the older men of the tribes, and never 
divulged to outsiders. Through the kindness of an 
American clergyman living in the East, I was enabled 
to see a rare book that held the main tenets of their 
creed, and a sort of catechism for priests entering their 
novitiate. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



91 



I gathered from this book the following outline : — 
The Druse religion was founded by Boha-ed-Din, who, 
flying from Egypt in 1021, settled near Hermon, and in 
a few years made thousands of converts. Boha-ed-Din 
taught the worship of an apotheosized Caliph named 
Hakem, and of one Hamzeh of Khorassan as his prophet. 
The heads of the Druse belief are : — 
1st. Unity of God. 

2d. Successive incarnations of the Deity. 
3d. That Hakem will be the last incarnation. 
4th. Incarnations of God's wisdom. 
5th. Hakem's wisdom the last of these. 
6th. Transmigration of souls. 

7th. Obedience to Hamzeh's seven laws, renouncing 
dogma, and substituting pure morality. 

The exact meaning of all the above I do not pretend 
to know; more than that the belief is akin to, if not 
identical with, Buddhism. 

I will cite one question from their catechism, as a 
sample : — 

" Question : What shall you reply if asked who Christ 
was ? 

"Ansiver : If asked by a Christian, I shall reply, 4 He 
was a great prophet ; ' if by a Mohammedan, I shall 
say, 'An impostor.' 

The reverse of this was to be replied if the Prophet 
Mohammed were discussed. From the catechism they 
appear to be a species of Oriental Jesuits. Their head- 
quarters are now at Mount Carmel, but villages of them 
are scattered here and there throughout Syria, and they 
are found in the larger cities. I even saw one — a 
Druse woman — in the "Fishmarket" at Cairo. 



92 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



I led David that night to tell me something of East- 
ern marriage customs. This is a long and complicated 
subject, so I will touch lightly on it. When a Moham- 
medan wishes to many, he goes, or sends his friends, 
to the father of the girl he has chosen and asks for her 
hand ; should the father consent, an involved process 
ensues, in which formal courtesy and ancient custom 
are curiously blended with Semitic bargaining, and a 
price is finally agreed upon. The lover pays any sum 
from twenty napoleons up, according to the girl's 
beauty or family ; then, without other ceremony than 
a great festivity to which all the relatives of both fami- 
lies are invited, he marries her. During the period of 
courtship the pair never, unless by chance, see each 
other. Should they happen to meet in this interval, 
the bride-elect must cover her face and turn her head 
aside. To look at or, above all, to address her future 
husband would be a shameless breach of decorum, which 
would not only break off the match, but disgrace the 
girl forever. Certain gifts, varying according to his 
wealth, are required at set seasons from the lover. 
Among the native Christians the same laws of bargain, 
gift-giving, and separation during engagement are in 
use ; but only one wife is allowed, and a religious cere- 
mony is always performed. 

Barbarous as the Oriental marriage system may seem, 
experience has proved it to have many advantages. 
The one great flaw is that the Moslem men often marry 
mere children. I myself have seen a nine-year-old wife 
who had been married a year. In such cases, the 
groom's mother trains the child-wife to housekeeping, 
and fits her to be a proper helpmeet for the man she 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



93 



has married. Great is the mother-in-law among the 
Syrians, often taking rank even above the husband. 

" Does the bride that passes by to-morrow live near 
here?" I asked David, as we arose to go in. 

" No, sir ; she lives about twenty miles to the north. 
She came down to be married, and she goes back with 
a party of men and women, entering every village on 
the road that invites them, sometimes stopping only to 
eat and drink, sometimes staying over night. It is 
said to bring good fortune to the maidens of the 
village." 

" By 4 good fortune,' I suppose you mean they may 
get a chance to marry some man who has a few wives 
already, and who will beat or starve them as he likes," 
I suggested. " And they call that good fortune, do 
they?" 

The dragoman looked puzzled for a moment, then 
answered : — 

" Well — they are women, you know, sir." 



CHAPTER X. 



A SYRIAN WEDDING RECEPTION — A CLOUD-BURST. 




EXT morning, as we were breaking 
camp, David pointed out a line of 
people crossing the hills a mile or so 
away ; the villagers, catching sight of 
them at the same time, thronged from 
their huts and stood in a group near 
the threshing-floor. A rough-looking 
young fellow from the house nearest 
our camp started off at a run to meet 
the newcomers. 

Down the last hill marched the 
procession, and I saw it was the same 
party that David had spoken of the 



night before. As they came into the 
plain, I could make out the bride, draped in white, a 
silk veil over her head, riding a sorrel pony, and the 
only mounted figure in the troop. Before her six men 
marched abreast, armed to the teeth ; behind was strung 
out a crowd of men and women, walking in any order 
they chose, and chanting a wedding song. 

Midway across the plain the young villager met them, 
and seizing the bride's horse by the rein, began to talk 
and gesticulate. 

" He is the son of the sheik of this village," explained 

94 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



95 



David, " and he is inviting tliem to stop at his house 
for rest and breakfast." 

" He has made preparations for them, then ? " 

" I was at his house to buy provisions half an hour 
ago, and I heard him tell his wife he was going to in- 
vite them, and she ran out to borrow food from her 
neighbors. Among us Syrians, we are bound to give 
whatever we have of food or money when a friend 
comes in to borrow in such cases as this. The wife had 
nothing to do with asking the bride ; her part is to get 
breakfast ready, and to see that the house is in order to 
recede her husband's guests." 

As he spoke, the procession started again, the host 
leading the bride's horse, the crowd behind breaking 
into a louder song, leaping, and waving their hands, 
while the six armed guards fired salutes with their long 
Arab guns, reloading and firing again as they ap- 
proached. They fired at the ground in front of them 
instead of firing into the air. One of the bullets (they 
did not use blank cartridges) recocheted on a stone and 
passed unpleasantly near us. 

A number of villagers came out to meet the guests, 
kissing them and swelling the wedding chant. Up the 
narrow street they went, the ubiquitous children follow- 
ing in crowds. 

"What are they going to do now, David?" I asked. 

" The men will dance in the courtyard of the house, 
while in the guest-room the women will try to make 
the bride perform the bride-dance." 

" Can we see it? The bride-dance, I mean." 

David was doubtful ; none were permitted to see this 
except close friends of the family or distinguished 



96 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



guests. I could lay claim to neither of these positions, 
but I went up to the village, none the less. 

In the courtyard of the host's house we found about 
fifty peasants seated around the rough wall, with a 
frieze of children at the top. In the center of the yard 
stood two native musicians playing queer fife-like in- 
struments, which emitted delightfully discordant notes. 
Four rustics, arm-in-arm, performed an ambling dance 
before the pipers. These dancers were joined by others, 
coming bashfully, one at a time, until a complete ring 
was formed. A queer, awkward dance it was, and 
these sad-eyed peasants, hopping solemnly about in ^jmge 
heavy shoes to the awful music of the rural orchestra, 
were almost too much for my self-control. I sat on a 
rock covered with two saddlebags, and ingratiated my- 
self with the older men by passing cigarettes among 
them, meanwhile tossing copper coins at the children 
on the opposite wall. 

David had disappeared, but soon came back with the 
news that he had been to the inner door of the house 
and (as I suspect), by the liberal use of backsheesh, 
had persuaded the inmates that I was a distinguished 
foreigner who had journeyed many leagues to see this 
particular bride-dance, and that should they be mean 
enough to refuse me the sight, their village would be- 
come a by-word and a hissing throughout the world. 
Accordingly I was, as a special favor, to be admitted. 
Following David's lead, I threaded my way through the 
courtyard convives, up a flight of uneven and dirty 
stone steps built on the outside of the house, dislodging 
a few batches of children on each, through a low door, 
into the largest, and I think only, room the house owned. 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



97 



At first I could see nothing, for the place was lighted 
only by the door and one small window, and I was 
blocking the door. It took some little time to accustom 
my eyes to the light and to show me that the room was 
jammed with men and women. That it was close and 
malodorous almost to suffocation, and that the din of 
talking or singing voices was deafening, I found on the 
moment of entering. 

I stood at one end of the room beside David, and as 
I looked, a path opened among the guests, leaving the 
way clear to the opposite corner. At the other end of 
the vista stood the bride. She had laid aside her white 
izzar (outer robe), and the pink veil was thrown back 
from her face. 

" She is very fair, is she not, sir ? " whispered David. 

From a Syrian point of view, she must indeed have 
seemed fair. To a foreigner, her eyes were her only 
good feature. These were large and dark, with the pa- 
tient, uninquiring look so common to Oriental women, 
and so well portrayed in Vedder's illustrations of the 
Rubayyat. For the rest, her face was ill-featured and 
insignificant, the lips dyed a vivid scarlet, and contrast- 
ing strongly with her dark face. Around her forehead 
was a tiara of gold coins, and her long hair fell in two 
braids down her back. Her dress, of thin gauzy stuff, 
that showed the figure beneath, was strung with orna- 
ments and coins of all sorts. On her dyed fingers were 
jeweled rings and about her neck was a chain of sil- 
ver coins, about the size of a half-dollar, with one larger 
coin hanging as a pendant from the center. This 
necklace, technically known as "the pieces of silver," 
is always the bridegroom's principal gift, and is em- 

H 



98 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



blematic. The bride must always guard it with the 
greatest care, for should it be stolen, or should a single 
piece be lost, she becomes disgraced in the eyes of her 
husband and neighbors, and can never be restored to 
favor unless it is found. Thus wives naturally watch 
over it more jealously than over all their other posses- 
sions. The idea dates back from time immemorial. 
We find mention of it in the Bible, where " the piece of 
silver " in Christ's parable refers not to some ordinary 
silver coin, but to a part of this valuable necklace. 
When the " piece " is lost by a woman, the loser will 
"sweep the house and seek diligently till she find it. 
And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and 
her neighbors together, saying : Rejoice with me, for I 
have found the piece which I had lost." 

I had plenty of time to take in all details of the bride's 
appearance, for she was unwilling to dance, and several 
minutes passed before she could be persuaded. Finally, 
she was won over, and prepared to dance. Now at last, 
I thought, I should see one of the dreamy, voluptuous 
dances I had looked for in vain at Beirut. Here, in the 
wilds, where customs of to-day are those of twenty cen- 
turies ago, a strain of Eastern music would rise and the 
bride-dance would be performed in all its grace. Well, 
the bride-dance was performed. At least, I suppose it 
was a dance. The bride, accompanied by the clapping 
of many hands, as in an Irish break-down, began to 
sway her head about in maudlin style, shaking her 
hands and arms so as to make the many ornaments 
jingle together, and now and then taking a step or two. 
This was the entire bride-dance — the dance that David 
had risked his soul's welfare to enable me to see. By 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



99 



and by it stopped, and David said I was expected to 
give the dancer a couple of francs as a wedding present, 
and told me also that she would probably kiss my hand 
on receiving it. I am always glad to humor native cus- 
toms, and even offered to strain a point and kiss the 
bride myself if necessary; but David was afraid this 
would not do. So, as she and I stepped from our oppo- 
site corners, toward each other, with a ludicrous resem- 
blance to wary prize-fighters, I contented myself with 
following a point of native etiquette David had once 
explained to me, and when, after I had given her the 
money, the bride stooped for the hand-kissing perform- 
ance, I stepped back, and, according to Syrian custom, 
we each raised our right hand to our lips. This act was 
received by the crowd with a murmur of approval, for 
it seemed I had thus paid, quite without knowing it, a 
great compliment to the bride by refusing to let her 
perform an act of inferiority, such as kissing my hand. 
Incidentally, I felt I had saved my hand from being 
marked with red dye. 

One girl in the audience was so moved that she set 
up a native and impromptu song in my honor. This, 
like all laudatory, impromptu songs in Syria, began with 
an ear-piercing crescendo scream and was followed by 
several sentences sung, or rather spoken, rapidly in the 
same key without a pause for breath. The song sav- 
ored slightly of the style of the late lamented Rabelais, 
and will hardly bear repetition. I was much pleased 
by the honor done me, until as the last note died away 
the singer remarked in the same breath : — 

" Backsheesh ! " 

She spoke the word in a casual, impersonal way, 



100 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



addressing the window. There was none of the beg- 
gar's whine in her voice ; the word was merely thrown 
out en passant, to be taken or left as I liked. It is not 
every one who can have a song improvised in his praise, 
even by hopes of backsheesh, so I gave her two francs, 
which she took with an air of great surprise. The at- 
mosphere by this time had become unbearable, so Jamal 
and I salaamed and left the house. 

We rode uphill all the morning and at noon pitched 




"Hermon was just above us." 



the luncheon tent on a bare space along the slopes of 
Hermon, several thousand feet above the sea. Hermon 
itself was just above us, rising ten thousand feet from the 
Mediterranean. Owing to the long dry season, the great 
mountain's sides were almost free from snow ; a white 
patch here and there alone whitening the brown waste. 

Clouds had covered the sky for the past twenty-four 
hours, and these grew more dense as we rode away after 
luncheon. David glanced up at them from time to time. 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



101 



" The winter rains are coming on," he said. " I won- 
der they have held off so long. When they do come, 
they will be worse than usual. I wish we could have 
started a few weeks earlier. We would have had clear 
weather all the way." 

" Where do we stop to-night?" 

" Near Mejdel es Shems " (the Village of the Sun), 
"and" — with unconscious satire — "whenever I pass 
that way, I am always sure to find rain." 

He went on to tell me of a celebrated American 
clergyman, whose party he had taken across country a 
year or two before. Rain had overtaken them at Mejdel 
es Shems, and, as their tents were in danger of blowing 
down, the entire party was forced to seek shelter 
in the village. The reverend doctor had no mack- 
intosh, so he was drenched to the skin before he 
reached the quarters provided for him — a large room, 
one-half of which was filled with damp onions. He 
was susceptible to cold, so he called for dry clothes 
and retired to this agricultural apartment to put 
them on. 

Just as he reached the turning-point in the operation 
of disrobing and dressing again, he chanced to look up, 
and saw to his horror the total native population of 
Mejdel es Shems, gazing at him through the half-open 
roof with faces expressive of delighted and ingenuous 
interest. The sight of a howaji — a man who had -so 
many garments and who knew how to put them all on 
— was something not to be missed. 

The holy man shrieked for David, who, it seems, came 
and stood on the roof, from which point of vantage he 
divided his time between haranguing the crowd on their 



102 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



rude curiosity, and shouting apologies through the aper- 
ture to the discomfited clergyman. 

" Doctor was very angry about it," Jamal ended 

reflectively ; then looking at me with some apprehension, 
he said, — 

" The wind comes down that valley very hard, sir, and 
if a heavy storm comes, the tents can't stand it, and we 
may have to spend a night in the village." 

"In the house where the onions are, David?" 

" Well, sir, we can move the onions out, and — and 
I'll stop up that place in the roof, if you wish. But I 
don't believe it will rain at all, so we need not worry." 

As if to belie his words, a torrent of water at that 
minute came down on us ; and before we could don our 
mackintoshes, we were soaked. Galloping our horses, 
regardless of the rough ground, we rode through the 
storm, that soon developed into a regular cloud-burst, 
and reached camp just before dark. 



CHAPTER XI. 



RAINY SUNDAY IN CAMP — TO C2ESAREA PHILIPPI. 




HE next clay was Sunday. I awoke 
late in the morning, and then wished 
I had slept longer, for it was still 
raining hard, and my tent walls, rugs, 
luggage, and even my clothes, had a 
cold dampness about them that was 
anything but pleasant. 

There is something peculiarly chill- 
ing and penetrating in a Syrian rain. 
No matter how thickly one may be 
clad or in what shelter, the dampness 
strikes through to the bone ; as for 
any rider who is exposed to it, mackin- 
toshes, rubber helmets, hip boots, etc., are only in part 
a protection. I called for breakfast, and after a few 
cups of black coffee and a cigarette, life grew more 
endurable. The rain fell in sheets, the earth was half 
hidden by puddles, and the gray, treeless hills and val- 
leys looked more desolate than usual; but inside the 
dining-tent it was dry, or at least as dry as could be 
expected when streams of water constantly poured off 
the canvas roof. 

From where I sat in the doorway I had a good view 
of the rest of the camp and of Mejdel es Shems itself 

103 



104 



STE1A FROM THE SADDLE. 



lying on the hillside before us. My own tent was 
deserted, and the flag hung limp in the rain. A murmur 
of voices reached me from the kitchen tent, and I saw 
half a dozen servants grouped under the friendly shelter, 
while David lay on a rug at the back, cigarette in 
mouth, enjoying the Sunday rest in true Oriental fash- 
ion. Most of the men had gone to the village khan 
with the horses. 

Along the plain straggled a few discouraged cows, 
and a raven flapped drearily over the hill beyond; 
other signs of life there were none. 

I then turned my attention toward Mejdel es Shems, 
and wondered in which house the onions had been kept 
when the American divine had unconsciously given 
a masculine version of La Chaste Suzanne an Bain. 
The village was larger and somewhat better built than 
Kefr-Hawar, but I saw a strong enough family likeness 
between the two to make me pity the party that had 
been forced to pass the night there. Here, in camp, 
we were at least clean, and no matter how it rained, 
we could keep up some sort of cheer. I wrote home 
that morning, to a friend, of La Chaste Suzanne's imi- 
tator, telling the whole story of the clergyman's mis- 
hap, and ended by saying how much better off I was, 
since I could stay in camp. 

" But, oh, vain boast ! Who can control his fate ? " 

My self-gratulation brought its own punishment, for 
after luncheon David came in from an inspection of the 
tents, and said : — 

" I'm very sorry, sir, but the ground is getting so 
soft that the tent poles will scarcely stand, and if any 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



105 



sudden wind rises, the whole camp will blow down. 
I'm afraid we must go to the village to-night. It will 
not be safe here." 

I groaned in spirit, but he seemed so much concerned 
that I had not the heart to offer objections ; so he went 
to see what plans could be made, promising to make me 
as comfortable as possible. An hour later a messenger 
came with a note from him. The note, with a few 
orthographical changes, read thus : — 

"Dear Sir: I have hired the house of the Sheik of the village. 
It is the best house in the village, and it has four rooms. I think 
we can make you very comfortable, as I have sent for the furni- 
ture from your own tent. 

" Respectfully. 

"D. Jamal. 

" Postscript : I have made it part of the bargain that the chil- 
dren of the Sheik shall not come near you. There are no onions 
in this house. D. J." 

I saw from this that he had done his best to make 
the place pleasant, and recognized his thoughtfulness 
in sending away the children. Following the messen- 
ger, I crossed the threshing-floor and the open ground 
beyond, up the steep hill to the village, where David 
waited to lead me to the "best house." 

This dwelling was all on one floor, and consisted of 
a large front room, where the dining-table was already 
set and my lounging-chair drawn up to the window, a 
back room where the cooking was done, and two small 
anterooms, one of which held my bed and luggage. 

At the front door stood a self-important little man , 
with a long beard. David introduced him as Yusef, 



» 



106 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Sheik of Mejdel es Shems. The little dignitary shook 
hands with me ; then, with childlike curiosity, touched 

the revolver at my 
belt and asked leave 
to examine it. I 
showed it to him, 
and he produced two 
great flintlock pis- 
tols in return. After- 
ward he showed me 
a long, crooked knife 
he carried. I handed 
him a little pearl- 
handled dirk I used 
as a pocket-knife ; 
after gravely look- 
ing it over, trying 
the point on his 
thumb, he bowed 
and said : — 

" JKater karak ! " 
(thank you), and 
placed it in his 
belt. Before I could 
speak, David inter- 
fered. 

" Why don't you 
return the howaji's 




Sheik of the Village. 



dagger, Sheik Yusef?" he asked in Arabic. 

" He gave it to me," answered the Sheik. 

"He lies!" I said in English. "I handed it to him 
to look at." 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



107 



David turned to the Sheik, who still protested that 
the knife was his, and asked quietly : — 

"In what language did the howaji speak when he 
gave it to you ? Did he say, 4 Here, take this dagger 
as a gift from me,' in Arabic? I did not hear him" ; 
(David was too polite to say I did not know enough 
Arabic to make such a speech correctly, — ) " and you, 
fool that you are, don't understand English. So what 
language did he use ? " 

This was a poser for our poor little host, and he 
handed back the dirk ruefully, without another word. 
David was full of apologies, and after the Sheik left 
the room, said : — 

" You see, sir, these village people are so simple 
they try to impose on the travelers who are with me, 
and forget that I shall pass by here again. This Sheik 
is not like the Sheiks of the Bedouins. The two are 
quite different. In villages, the petty magistrate is 
called Sheik. It is a government office and passes 
from father to son. The fellaheen who live in villages 
often despise their Sheik. They owe him no loyalty ; 
he is no greater than the rest of them, and they in- 
sult him as they like. With the Bedouins it is not 
so. Among them their Sheik is a prince. He is re- 
spected and obeyed by the whole tribe. He leads 
them in battle and rules them in times of peace." 

Imbarak came in at this point to say that dinner was 
ready, and I ate what I believe was the first civilized 
meal ever cooked in Mejdel es Shems. 

I saw no more of the human members of the Sheik's 
household that night, and I went to bed early. The 
dogs of the village howled till daybreak, the men in 



108 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



the next room snored loudly, and the place was so close 
that I could not breathe. To make matters utterly 
unbearable, I found that a large and active remnant 
of the third plague of Egypt had evidently escaped 
and taken up their residence in this particular house. 
Under the circumstances sleep was, of course, impos- 
sible ; so I dressed, and read until morning. I was no 
more content when daylight showed me that the wind 
had not risen, the tents were still standing, and we 
might have slept in camp as well as not. 

We started on our day's journey in a drizzling rain, and 
rode over the hills until, toward noon, we came to a turn 
in the path and saw beneath us the plain of Merom. 
The sun came out and shone weakly for an hour or so. 
The waters of Merom sparkled in the distance, and 
beyond the marshy ground that surrounded the lake 
stretched the great plain where the allied kings " went 
out, they and all their hosts with them, much people even 
as the sand that is upon the seashore in multitude, 
with horses and chariots very many. And when these 
kings were met together, they came and pitched together 
at the waters of Merom to fight against Israel." 

Off to the east lay the valley of Mizpeh, where Joshua 
drove the beaten host, and where his followers " smote 
them until they left none remaining." 

" It must have been a grand sight from here," I said, 
as David pointed these places out to me. " What a field 
for a battle ! " 

" Joshua was a great general," answered the drago- 
man ; " he could make Jews fight, and fight well ; that 
is more than most generals can do. And Joshua ended 
well. Jehu and other conquerors did well for a time, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



109 



but they usually sinned sooner or later. Now Joshua 
kept straight, all through." 

We seemed to enter a different world ; the hills about 
us were greener, and we rode down toward the plain 
through natural hedges of myrtle, past olive-trees laden 
with ripe fruit. It was a grateful sight after barren 
hillsides and stony ground. I said so to David. 

" It is finer still in the spring-time," he replied, " for 
then the whole plain is a mass of wild flowers. We 
will reach Csesarea Philippi, or Baneas, as we call it 
now, in a few minutes. Then we will be in Palestine 
itself. Baneas is the northern boundary of the Holy 
Land. That mountain over there " — pointing to a 
high, green-clad hill to our left — " is the traditional 
Mount of Transfiguration. We read that our Lord 
went up into a mountain from Cassarea Philippi. That 
is the nearest and highest mountain. Do you see the 
Crusader castle on the other hill, — the one to this side ? " 

I saw the ruined castle less than a mile away. I have 
heard that it is most interesting to explore, and is one of 
the largest castles in the East ; but we did not turn aside. 

Many hills throughout Syria are still capped by such 
monuments to the grand yet chimerical idea which led 
the flower of mediaeval chivalry to leave home and 
friends, and die in a useless effort to hold Palestine for 
Christianity. Though, with our nineteenth century 
common sense, we see the folly of such an attempt, I 
think we shall never become educated to so great a 
height as to forget its noble aims and heroism. After 
all, the notion was little more chimerical, and far more 
worthy, than the throwing away of hundreds of lives in 
the search for a north pole. 



110 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" Our Lord no doubt walked over that plain hundreds 
of times," David went on; "I always think of it when I 
look down from here." 

On such a day, with this scene before one contrasted 
with the storm and dreariness of our former rides, it 
was indeed easy to call up a vision of the Master's 
white-robed figure passing through the sunlit field of 
red lilies. 

We had reached the bottom of the hill, and came to 
a ruined causeway with a gate of Roman architecture 
over it. Rude carvings were still to be seen on the 
gate, and the bridge looked as strong as when Rome's 
legions tramped over it. The stream that flowed under 
the bridge is the main source of the Jordan. To the 
right lies the modern village of Baneas, and beyond 
it the ancient village of Pan. The village derives its 
name from the temple ; having first been called Paneas, 
then corrupted to Baneas. A Herod built the ancient 
town, naming it, so the story goes, after Tiberius Caesar 
and his own brother Philip. 

Traces of Pan's temple still remain in the side of the 
high rock. Niches are there, from which, says tradi- 
tion, Pan's effigies fell broken, on the night nearly two 
thousand years ago when throughout the Pagan world 
rang the cry, " Great Pan is dead ! " In this same 
rock is a deep cavern whence springs one source of 
the Jordan. We crossed brooks and forced our way 
through tangled undergrowth to reach this spot, and 
its wild beauty well repaid our trouble. 

After visiting town, ruins, and cavern, we rode over 
another Roman bridge, a rude flight of slippery steps, 
and took our way toward Dan, where we were to lunch. 



Two-story Khan. 



CHAPTER XII. 

LUNCHEON AT DAN — SYRIAN KHANS. 




HE road to Dan lay through a park- 
like country whose verdure and 
warmth made us forget that the time 
was December and not June. 

After a short ride we came to Dan. 
A little hill, treeless and unattractive, 
rises abruptly from the surrounding 
low ground. On this hill, we read, 
stood the golden calf, placed there by 
Jeroboam when he proclaimed to the 
people : " Behold thy gods, O Israel, which brought 
thee up out of the land of Egypt ! And this thing 
became a sin, for the people went to worship before 
the one, even unto Dan." 

The hill to-day is used for grazing ground, and the 
city's site is occupied only by occasional flocks and 
shepherds. At the base of the hill runs the Jordan — 
or rather its tributary. On the banks of this stream, 
under a great terebinth tree, David prepared my lunch. 

ill 



112 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



He laid the bottle of wine in the river to cool while he 
set the table ; and afterward announced with deep grief 
that the cork had come out in the water, and all the 
wine was gone. I recognized this as a new and aquatic 
form of his time-honored joke, and we went through the 
regular programme as before. 

While I was lunching, the sky once more clouded, and 
before I finished, the rain began to fall. 

A Bedouin girl wrapped in a dark blue cloak, or 
sheet, the regulation outer garment of Bedouin women, 
similar in color and shape to that worn by the Madonna 
of Sassoferrato, came along and stopped to speak with 
David. She looked haggard and ill, and one of her 
feet was badly cut. 

"She is from the other side of Jordan, three days' 
journey," reported the dragoman. " Two of her father's 
camels have strayed, and she was set to look for them. 
She has traveled three days, but she cannot find them, 
and she has had nothing to eat to-day. I am going to 
give her some luncheon." 

He got together a few loaves of native bread and 
some pieces of meat, put them in a paper, and gave 
them to the girl. She grasped the package eagerly 
and walked a few steps down-stream, then sat on a 
stone to eat. Before she could begin, four thin, hungry- 
looking peasants, who had been watching us, ran to 
where she sat, and all began talking to her at once. 

" They say she asked them for news about the camels, 
and that now she must share her meal with them," 
growled David, eyeing the group with strong disgust. 

" But there is scarcely enough for her alone," I 
objected. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



113 



"They don't care for that, sir. All they want is 
something to eat, no matter how they get it." 

By this time the food had been portioned out by one 
of the self-bidden guests, and all fell to eating in a half- 
starved fashion ; the girl first looking at her scanty 
share sadly, but evidently without any idea of rebelling. 
When they had finished eating, she looked furtively 
for any stray crumbs ; but her guests had left none. 
She seemed thoroughly tired out and still hungry, so 
I carried over a part of a chicken, two eggs, and a 
glass or so of wine that was left in my bottle, and gave 
them to her, standing by while she ate and drank. 
The others crept near and watched the food longingly. 
One of them even started forward and tried to divide 
it as before, but thought better of it after the first 
attempt. I waited until she had devoured everything, 
then, without listening to the innumerable blessings she 
invoked on ourselves and our ancestors, we brought the 
horses down to the stream. 

" Cattle often stray off," said David, " and the owner 
sends one of his servants or his children after them. 
You remember, Saul met Samuel, and was anointed 
while he was searching for his father's asses which had 
strayed." 

Mounting, we forded the river, leaving Saul's femi- 
nine successor and her fellow-peasants staring after us, 
and rode on through the rain across the plain of Merom. 
Riding over muddy ground in a rainstorm is seldom 
exhilarating; when, added to this, your mackintosh 
leaks, and your cigarette is too moist to burn, the expe- 
rience is almost dreary. Serkeese at first tried to en- 
liven things by whooping at his horse, but soon settled 
i 



114 



SYBIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



down into a dolorous minor song. I tried to worry 
Massoud into a bad humor, and for once the horse was 
too much depressed to answer my challenge. David 
told one or two stories, but even he seemed subdued, 
and at last we splashed along in silence. 

When we reached camp, we found that the canteen 
mule had lain down somewhere near Dan, and in a fit 
of merriment had rolled over on the canteen chest, 
forcing the whole train to wait an hour while the load 
was put to rights. In consequence, the tents were not 
up and would not be for half an hour. We must 
take refuge in the village khan with the horses until 
the work was done. 

Our camp was in a field, near a thicket of underbrush ; 
here and there in the same field, but at some distance 
from us, were solitary black tents, low lying, with a thin 
reek of smoke creeping dolefully through the roof of 
each. These tents were the abodes of fellaheen and 
isolated Bedouins. A mile beyond lay the village; a 
hillside village flattened out to make it fit on a plain. 
I think if David had dared, he would have suggested 
that as the ground was so soft, and the work of pitch- 
ing the tents so difficult, I would better spend the night 
in that village. But I had spoken long and earnestly 
that morning on the subject of sleeping in native huts ; 
so he forebore. 

We went to the khan. This was a one-roomed build- 
ing, most of it taken up by the horses. At one end 
was a stone ledge or platform, rising about three feet 
from the ground, in length the width of the room, 
and in width barely eight feet. Here, on mats, sleep 
muleteers and stablemen. In many cases, two or three 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 115 

entire families use such a platform as a dining, living, 
and sleeping room, the rest of the room being given up 
to live stock, such as horses, cows, donkeys, and even 
camels. 

At the edge of the platform, hollows are dug which 
act as mangers. It was, without doubt, in such a place 
that the new-born Child was laid when, there being no 
room for them at the inn, the Holy Family slept in the 
village khan or stable. Here, on some such mat as 
nowadays covers the floor of these platforms, lay the 
mother, while the Child was laid beside her in the hol- 
lowed stone that served as a manger. This idea is not 
as poetical, perhaps, as that seen in Italian paintings, 
where a child is depicted in a gilt-barred artistic manger, 
with two impossible cows and a donkey feeding close 
by ; but it is far more correct. 

Larger khans have two stories and are built in the 
form of an L, the lower floor on the longer side of the 
angle being built as I have just described, while the rest 
of the building is taken up with small rooms for lodg- 
ing or storage purposes. 

When we entered the khan where we were to wait 
until our camp could be prepared, we found it already 
occupied by four or five Bedouins, who had stopped 
there for shelter on their way home. They were talk- 
ing, and examining some horses when we entered. Be- 
yond returning their civil salute, I paid little attention 
to these men, but being tired and wet, threw myself 
down on one of the mats and slept until word came that 
our tents were pitched. On the way to camp, I asked 
David where the Bedouins Ave had seen came from. 

" They are a tribe from the Land of Moab," he said. 



116 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" They have crossed Jordan with all their flocks and 
herds, and encamped on the plain of Merom for better 
pasturage. You said you wanted to stop among the 
Bedouins awhile, sir ; and as the Sheik of this tribe is 
a friend of mine, we may as well stop with him as with 
any other tribe. Will you go over for a short visit to- 
night, just to meet him and drink a cup of coffee, before 
we go there for good? " 

"No, I will stay in camp to-night, and go over to- 
morrow. It is too cold and wet now." 

I was sorry enough afterwards that I had made this 
decision. 

There are degrees of dampness, and our camp had 
reached the superlative. Tents, table-cloth, and furni- 
ture were drenched alike. A little impromptu brook 
ran before the dining-tent. In the middle of dinner I 
looked up, and saw a frog sitting on the opposite end of 
the table staring at me. Some toothpicks in a vase 
began to move around mysteriously. Picking the vase 
up, I found that some sort of water-insect with hordes 
of legs had fallen in and was struggling to make his 
escape over the rolling line of toothpicks. I did not 
enjoy dinner at all, that night. Imbarak, like some 
gaunt, prehistoric beast, hopped between kitchen and 
dining-tents, and as he took away the last course, an- 
nounced in some tongue he believed to be French, that 
the rain was so heavy none of the village men would 
consent to act as guards. 

David had a raging headache and had gone to bed. 
It was too wet to sit outside, so I lighted all the candles 
and sat down to read. As I was going to visit the 
Bedouins on the morrow, I wished to be somewhat 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



117 



posted and had accordingly borrowed from David a 
paper he himself had written, entitled " The Bedouins ; 
their History, Manners, and Customs." It was written 
in excellent English and with a clear knowledge of the 
subject. I read it through, and will recount a few of 
the principal facts, together with such information on 
the tent-dwellers as I have picked up from personal 
experience with them, or heard from other travelers. 
I may unconsciously idealize to a certain extent, which 
is but natural ; for after my dealings with other types 
of the " poor benighted Heathen in distant lands," as 
the Mission tracts have it, the Bedouin was a refreshing 
change. 

This, then, is part of the material I have gathered 
from what I read, saw, and heard of the Sons of 
Ishmael. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



MY FRIENDS, THE BEDOUINS. 




HOU shalt call his name Ishmael; 
. . . and he will be a wild man ; 
and his hand will be against 
every man, and every man's hand 
against him." 

The prophecy has been fulfilled 
in every generation from Ishmael 
himself down to the Bedouins of 
the present day. 

By the term "Bedouin," I do 
not refer to such fellaheen as 
happen to live in black tents ; nor 
to the canaille who help unwary 
tourists to climb the Great Pyramid at Ghizeh. These 
latter are the veriest offscouring of the East, a choice 
and well-trained assortment of thieves, cut-throats, and 
beggars, who live upon travelers. 

The genuine Bedouin is seldom found west of the 
Jordan, and is utterly unlike hordes of country folk 
that go under his name. There is much the same 
difference between the true son of Ishmael and other 
Syrians as between a blooded race and a coach horse. 
The Bedouin stands out as a type by himself. His 
Arabic is the purest spoken in Syria ; his bravery and 

118 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



119 



hardihood are proverbial ; his hospitality almost absurd 
in breadth ; and through his whole existence runs a 
poetical, romantic vein oddly out of place nowadays. 

Children of nature they are, dwellers in tents, living 
by their flocks and agriculture ; varying this rural life 
by occasionally taking a more than neighborly interest 
in the herds and crops of their neighbors. These proofs 
of excessive interest lead naturally to retaliation, and 
hot fights ensue. Much of the Bedouins' time is spent 
in warfare with surrounding tribes, brought on by some 
robbery or elopement, or to avenge an insult offered by 
one tribe to the guest of another. 

In spring and summer their tent life is idyllic. 
Roaming over the rich hill country to avoid the heat, 
they pasture their flocks, fight any casual neighbors, im- 
provise and sing ballads of love and war, and intermarry. 
They have no care for the civilized world or for the 
government. Many tribes are outlawed, but as they 
beat all troops sent against them by the Pasha, and then 
can boast of their victories in the streets of the principal 
cities, the law's ban rests lightly on them. Their char- 
acter and mode of living form an Oriental version of 
the legend of Robin Hood, desert and mountain taking 
the place of the greenwood. 

Winter drives the romance from most rural lives, and 
the Bedouin's is no exception to this rule. The ground 
is too wet for comfort, the tents blow down or decay from 
continuous dampness, and the tent-dwellers cannot, as 
a tribe, seek shelter in cities, but must bear rain and 
intense cold as best they can. To make matters worse, 
their cattle and flocks often grow mad from exposure to 
the weather, and stampede en masse to gain refuge in 



120 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



the tents. In consequence, often in the dead of night 
a tribe is wakened by a scurry of hoofs, and before any- 
thing can be done to check them, a thousand cattle charge 
the tents, beating them down and stamping furniture 
and utensils into the mud. 




Bedouins in Council. 



A famous Sheik once said to me, as he pointed to a 
dog that was rolling in the mud and offal of the road : — 

" That is the condition of the Bedouin in winter." 

Luckily, the Syrian winter is short, and by the end of 
February it is virtually past. 

The Bedouin form of government is simple. Each 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



121 



tribe is ruled by a Sheik or prince, and these are, in turn, 
commanded by Emirs. The office of Sheik is hereditary. 
His duty is to act as leader and chief magistrate to his 
people, and, during the marches, to ride ahead and choose 
the next camping-ground. His hospitality has become 
world-renowned. Any man, be he friend, stranger, or 
even enemy, may ride to the Sheik's tent and demand 
food and shelter. This is granted for as long a time as 
he may care to remain with the tribe. Moreover, should 
the guest chance to be a fugitive from justice or pursued 
by a hostile tribe, his entertainers are bound by the 
unwritten laws of their race to fight in his defense and 
to try in every way to protect him. A story is told of 
a Sheik whose worst enemy came to his tent, half- 
starved, and begged for food. The Sheik, remembering 
their enmity, asked : — 

" How much food can you expect from the hands of a 
foe ? " 

" That," replied the guest, " I leave to your generos- 
ity." 

The Sheik left the tent, and walked out among his 
flocks, where, drawing his sword, he killed over fifty 
sheep and goats. He was with difficulty restrained from 
killing the entire stock, his sole wealth, to prove his 
generosity. 

A man who has been entertained by the Bedouins, 
even if he has merely broken bread among them, 
receives the protection of their tribe for a period vary- 
ing from twenty-four to eighty-four hours after his 
departure. If, during this time of protection, he is 
attacked, insulted, or robbed, the tribe he has just left 
is obliged to avenge the wrong and recover the stolen 



122 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



goods. This may look like carrying hospitality to an 
extreme, but it is customary, and the force of custom is 
strong in the East. Desert customs do not change with 
each year ; we find instances of this entertainment of 
strangers as far back as Genesis, where Abraham, sitting 
at the door of his tent in the heat of the day, begged 
two strange travelers to enter and rest, even killing 
the choicest of his flock for their repast. We see 
another instance in Judges, where Jael called to Sisera 
to turn aside from his flight, offering him rest, food, 
and protection in her tent. 

There are no restaurants or police stations in the 
desert, and the natives simply do what they can to 
make up for the deficiency by feeding and defending 
each other. When we think of this, and remember the 
lawlessness and lack of food in the waste places far 
from cities and seacoast, the Bedouin ideas of hospital- 
ity seem less exaggerated. 

Now and then in some European or American maga- 
zine we read a so-called Bedouin love-song, and as a 
rule regard it sceptically, thinking there can be no 
poetry in the mind of a savage. Yet I have heard 
among bards of the desert many songs in praise of love, 
or horses, that have far more true poetry and vigor than 
all the magazine poems which purport to be Arabic 
translations. 

True, in the genuine Bedouin song there is not quite 
so strong an Oriental atmosphere as in the translations 
made by our Western poets ; but that is to be expected. 
The formula — or shall I say recipe ? — for writing Arab 
songs in English is quite simple when once you learn 
it. A casual mention of the Prophet, here and there, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 123 

or a plentiful sprinkling of Allans, Maschallahs, and 
Bismillahs gives a delightful Eastern flavor to such 
effusions ; while a whole Arabic phrase, such as " la ilia 
ilia Allah," or " Allah hu Akbar," not only ensures 
immediate success, especially when a translation to each 
phrase can be added without spoiling the verse or 
appearing to instruct the reader, but also stamps the 
writer as a man of learning and travel. By carefully fol- 
lowing this scheme, a first-rate song of Saharan love and 
murder may be written in a New York study. 

The real love-song of the Bedouin has little motif, 
and is usually taken up with similes in praise of the 
loved one's beauty. The song I heard in the Beirut 
music hall is a tolerable specimen, except that among 
the Ishmaelites less conventional comparisons are used 
and the song is set to wilder music. Women and 
horses divide about equally the attention of the Bedouin 
singer ; the horse, if either, having the advantage. 
Such songs lose most of their beauty in translation. 

The war ballads are of a different nature, telling 
heroic deeds of some special hero. One that I recollect 
(I think it has been already translated into English 
verse) tells of a young Sheik, who with his mother and 
a few servants was crossing from the Jordan to his 
home beyond the mountains of Moab, when a hostile 
tribe barred his way. The young Sheik showed fight, 
and gathering his followers about him prepared for a 
charge. The leader of the hostile band laughed at him 
and said : — 

" You are but a child ! Go back to your mother." 
The boy, having placed his mother in safety, attacked 
his enemies and, as usual in such songs, after a hard 



124 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



battle put the whole force to flight, at last killing the 
man who had laughed at him. He himself was bleed- 
ing from a hundred wounds, but before he left the field 
he looked from the flying tribesmen to his enemy who 
lay dying before him and cried : — 

" Now I will go back to my mother ! " and riding to 
where she stood awaiting him, fell dead at her feet. 

Another song tells of a father who yielded to his 
twelve-year-old son's wish to see a battle, and took him 
to watch a fight against another tribe. The little fellow 
became separated from his father and was killed by the 
enemy's Sheik. The father's tribe won the battle and 
the Sheik who had killed the boy was captured. The 
father, half-crazed with grief and anger at his son's 
death, cut off the right hand that had done the deed, 
then, putting out the prisoner's eyes, left him to wander 
about among the mountains until starvation or wild 
beasts should end his life. 

I have heard many such songs, some based on facts, 
some quite imaginary. Little knowledge of verse-writ- 
ing is needed to compose them, for rhyme, rhythm, and 
meter are alike unnecessary. The various tunes are 
much alike, and the song is usually nothing more than 
a prose story chanted in a sing-song tone. 

Bedouin morals are decidedly good — at least among 
the women. Strict watch is set by every man over the 
women of his family, and the lightest indiscretion is 
dealt with harshly. If a woman is even suspected of 
undue liking for some outsider, her husband — or if she 
is unmarried, her brother — takes her on a hunting or 
riding trip for a few days, and comes back without her. 
No one asks what has become of the missing girl, and 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



125 



the avenger of family honor is never questioned or pun- 
ished, but gains honor for the act. 

While I was in Jerusalem a Bedouin girl was mur- 
dered. These were the facts in the case : The girl was 
in town with her mother, buying cloth. A young man 
went to the Land of Moab, where her family lived, and 
told her brother it was rumored by some of his friends that 
a girl who looked like his sister had been seen leaning 
from her lattice to speak to a man in the street below. 

The brother waited for no proofs. He set out for 
Jerusalem, reaching the Holy City one evening at sun- 
set. He spoke to no one, but went straight to the house 
where his sister lodged, and, halting beneath her window, 
called her by name. The girl, hearing her brother's 
voice, ran to the lattice, and as she appeared was shot 
through the head and killed. The brother escaped 
through the sympathizing crowd, and gained the shelter 
of his own tribe before he could be caught. I believe 
his feat has been set forth in song, and is now chanted 
to wives and sisters as a warning. 

The Bedouins are Mohammedans and are more de- 
vout than town-dwellers. Their marriage customs are 
slightly different from those of the Moslems, a rude 
ceremony being performed, and the courtship is con- 
ducted on a more formal scale. The would-be bride- 
groom sends a delegation of friends to wait on his be- 
loved's father. The father, as they enter his tent, 
offers them food, which they always refuse, declaring 
they will neither eat nor drink until their suit is ac- 
cepted. This custom also dates back to Genesis. When 
Abraham's servant, coming to the tent of Bethuel to de- 
mand Rebekah as wife for Isaac, found " meat set before 



126 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



him to eat," he said, " I will not eat until I have told 
mine errand." 

After the usual period of courtship, the groom's 
friends, when the bride is of another tribe, go in a body, 
men and women together, to bring the bride home ; tak- 
ing with them a richly decked camel on which she is to 
ride. As they near the tents of the bride's tribe they 
break into song. This is a signal for the women of the 
tribe to rush out and pelt them with stones and sticks. 
The groom's friends respond, and an interesting fight 
follows. This is done to show the unwillingness felt by 
the " home " tribe to give their daughter away. 

At last both parties make up their quarrel, and together 
go to the tents, where a feast is prepared. After this 
meal is eaten the bride-elect mounts the camel, and the 
band sets out for the groom's home. Arriving there, 
two stones are set at a certain distance apart, on each of 
which stands one of the two contracting parties. When 
they are thus placed, the tribe standing about them in a 
circle, the groom cries three times : — 

" While we two stand on these stones, bear witness, 
O God of mankind, that this woman is my wife, and I 
her husband." 

When he has finished speaking, the bride makes a sim- 
ilar declaration, and they are man and wife by Bedouin 
law. 

A marriage feast follows this, lasting late into the 
night. The groom on leaving the feast invariably finds 
that his wife has run away, anol is forced to go from 
tent to tent in search of her, seldom finding her for two 
or three days. A bride always runs away from her hus- 
band's tent on her wedding-day. It is a time-honored 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



127 



custom, and if she fails to observe it, she and her family 
are disgraced. I do not know why this should be, but 
so it is. Perhaps it was owing to this custom that Jacob 
did not discover at first that his veiled wife was Leah 
the " tender-eyed," and not the woman for whom he had 
toiled seven years. 

Wedding dowry among the Bedouins is often given 
in the form of live stock instead of money. Sometimes 
when a young man is too poor to buy a wife, and has no 
friends who will lend him enough cattle, the modern 
Jacob will work for a girl's father for a certain length 
of time, varying from one to seven years. 

When a girl's parents do not wish her to marry a man 
of another tribe the lover lies in wait and steals her, 
taking her to a third tribe whose Sheik is asked to arbi- 
trate the matter. If the girl, after reaching this neutral 
ground, does not wish to marry her abductor, she is sent 
back home escorted by the Sheik's servants. If, how- 
ever, she does wish to go on with the affair the couple 
are married, and a delegation is sent to the bride's father 
to reconcile him to the match. If the Sheik who sends 
the delegation is powerful and rich, the plan usually suc- 
ceeds. Otherwise, a war ensues between the two tribes. 
In any case, as soon as the girl's elopement is discovered 
her tribe attacks that of her lover, and the powers of the 
arbitrating Sheik are once more called into play. 

I have given here a bald and incomplete account of 
the Bedouin ; should I go into the subject with any 
thoroughness I should have space for little else. I have 
merely tried to give a faint idea of the habits and cus- 
toms of a people who interest me, and who have stood 
still, unhurried by the rush of civilization, since the 
days of Ishmael. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



A MIDNIGHT VISITOR — IN THE TENTS OF ISHMAEL. 




FINISHED David's essay at ten 
o'clock, and, crossing through puddles 
of water to my own tent, was soon 
asleep. 

About two o'clock in the morning I 
heard a slight noise, and, as I opened 
my eyes, I thought I saw a faint gleam 
of light for a moment at one end of 
the dark tent, as though the curtain 
had been lifted. The light lasted only 
the fraction of a second, but though 
darkness and quiet followed, I was 
sure something or someone had raised 
the tent-curtain. So I went out to explore. As I left 
the tent I stepped above my ankles in the brook, and 
this incident disgusted me with myself for leaving a 
dry tent on such an errand, so I was less watchful than 
I should otherwise have been. The camp-fire was out, 
the two muleteers David had set as guards in default of 
village watchmen, had crawled into the kitchen-tent and 
gone to sleep, and there was no sign of life to be seen. 
I walked around the camp and looked blindly into the 
thicket, but as it was raining hard, and since in the 
darkness I constantly stumbled over tent-ropes, I soon 

128 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



129 



came back and decided that the gleam of light I had 
seen was nothing but a dream after all. 

Next morning I was awakened by the noise of men 
talking excitedly, and looking out, saw the village Sheik 
and a few other peasants, all looking very much scared, 
surrounded by a ring of our muleteers who were shriek- 
ing and shaking their fists excitedly, while David stood 
near by talking in a low voice to Imbarak. Seeing me, 
he left the group and came forward. 

" Have you missed anything, sir ? " he asked. 

I asked what he meant, and he went on to explain that 
our camp had been visited during the night by a village 
thief, who, finding us unguarded, had examined the 
tents. The curtains were fastened down, but he had 
run his hand between the canvas and the ground and 
grasped whatever was within reach. 

Imbarak and John of the Oriental name had been 
relieved of several cloaks and shoes; the kitchen tent 
had lost half its utensils, and David's Beirut boots and 
mackintosh had been stolen. I went back to my own 
tent, remembering the patch of light I had seen near 
the ground, and found I had suffered least of all. A 
heavy sea-coat I had brought with me for cold weather 
was the extent of my loss. This coat had been rolled 
up the evening before and laid close to the tent- 
wall. My camera, that had stood just beside it, was 
untouched. 

David offered again and again to pay me for the lost 
coat, but as he had lost far more than I, and as it was 
in a measure my own fault for not looking more care- 
fully for the thief on my midnight round, I would not 
hear of his paying anything. I told him of my seeing 

K 



130 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE, 



the tent-curtain raised, and of my walk about the 
camp. 

" It was beyond doubt the thief that woke you," he 
said excitedly. " But why didn't you shoot him, sir?" 

I pointed out the slight difficulties that lie in the way 
of shooting a man who is not in sight; and he began 
to blame himself for his carelessness in sleeping so 
soundly. 

While I was at breakfast I could hear David giving 
the village Sheik huge pieces of his mind for harboring 
such thieves in his wretched collection of huts, and 
Imbarak glided about more mournfully than ever. 

After breakfast I asked David what was to be done 
in the matter. 

" If we had three days to spare I should send over to 
the nearest garrison for soldiers. They would come 
and live at the village, eating the people's food and 
feeding their horses on the village crops, until the thief 
was given up, or the money paid for everything stolen. 
That is our manner of collecting bad debts." 

We had no time for this, but were forced to move on. 
The Bedouin camp to which we were bound lay a few 
miles to the south. 

" What will the thief do with the things he has 
stolen ? " I queried as we rode along. I stand over six 
feet two in height and am broad in proportion ; it puz- 
zled me to know how a little Syrian peasant could wear 
a sea-coat that fell almost to my heels. 

" He must carry all he has stolen to Damascus," ex- 
plained David, " and sell each thing for a small part of 
its value to some man who buys stolen goods. He dare 
not wear such clothes himself, for everyone would know 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



131 



he had stolen them. As for your coat, some Nubian at 
Damascus may be large enough to wear it." 

After a few minutes' silence he said: — 

" I wish, sir, we had gone to the Bedouins' camp last 
evening for supper. We should then have been under 
their protection ; they would soon have found where 
our goods were, and got them back for us." 

I said nothing, but it came to my mind that possibly 
some of these Bedouins might have the very best reasons 
for knowing the whereabouts of the things we had lost. 

Half an hour's ride brought us to the outskirts of the 
encampment where we were to stay. Cattle wandered 
about, seeking pasturage ; here and there we saw an 
African buffalo, such as are found in quantities along 
the Nile, long-horned, coarse-haired, and ugly, feeding 
with the cows. The sheep and goats were farther away 
on the high ground, guarded by mummy-like shepherds, 
each swathed in an abieh with the muzzle of a gun 
sticking stiffly from the top. 

Before us lay a village of tents, woven from the long 
hair of black Syrian goats. I had seen isolated black 
tents scattered all along the road since we left Beirut ; 
but here were several hundred, some laid out in rude 
imitation of streets, and others pitched at irregular dis- 
tances about the plain. 

Here and there a man sat in a doorway, or a woman 
might be seen cooking, but for the most part the inhabi- 
tants were hiding from the rain in their tents, or hunting 
among the hills. The women that I saw would have 
cured me of any illusion, had I not already thrown aside 
all illusions, as to the beauty of the daughters of the 
desert. Unwashed, and unbecomingly dressed in the 



132 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



regulation blue robe, they were still further disfigured 
by tattoo marks on forehead, nose and lips ; in some 
cases these tattoo lines ran up from each corner of the 
mouth, giving the wearer's face a ludicrous resemblance 
to Vhomme qui rit. 

I have seen but one Bedouin woman who was an ex- 
ception to this rule of ugliness. She was the wife of the 
Sheik of the tribe, and I will speak of her later. 

As we rode through the street I was able to study 
the architecture of the dwellings, which is of a style 
that dates back almost to the Flood. 

Woven, as I have said, of black goat's hair, the tents 
are from ten to thirty feet long, with a slender roof-tree 
running down the center. The tent along the roof-tree 
is perhaps eight feet high, and slopes gradually down 
on either side to a height of four feet from the ground 
at an angle that makes the tent about twelve feet wide. 
The space between eaves and ground is left open in 
summer, and in winter is filled by a wainscot of closely 
plaited bamboo twigs. Each tent is divided into at 
least two parts ; some into three. The whole tent is 
divided into a reception or guest-room, where the men 
of the family sit, eat, transact business, and receive 
visitors ; the harem apartment, where the women and 
children spend their days, and where the whole family 
sleep ; and the kitchen. 

The last-named is by no means the least important 
room ; for in it is a continuous process of cooking. 
Each relay of guests that arrives must be served with a 
fresh meal, and I have seen a single Bedouin host or- 
der from his kitchen as many as five breakfasts in one 
morning for five different parties of visitors. The 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



133 



wife must always have food ready for any stranger 
who may come unexpectedly, and woe to her if, after 
her lord and master has called for the meal, she keeps 
him waiting. 

The host sits in the guest-room and receives the new- 
comer. His wife must wait in the harem with her ear 
close to the tent-curtain, listening for any order. When 
food is required, the husband calls to her through the 
tent-curtain and commands her to bring, or send it in. 
If she is a good wife she will comply; if not, or if by 
chance she has forgotten to prepare anything, she will 
pay no attention to the call. Her husband, if he is a 
very patient man, will give the order a second or even 
a third time. Should the wife through disobedience or 
neglect still fail to respond, the chances are that his 
next remark through the tent-curtain will be the three- 
sentence formula whose burden is, " You are divorced," 
and from which there is no appeal. 

Toward the end of the village stood a large tent 
somewhat apart from the others, a spear driven into the 
ground before it. This was the Sheik's home. As our 
horses stopped near the door, half a dozen men ran out, 
some taking our bridles, others holding the stirrups 
while we dismounted. We left the horses in charge of 
Serkeese and the Sheik's servants and walked to the 
tent. Before we could reach it a man stepped out and 
came forward to meet us. 

He was tall, lightly but strongly built, with a thin, 
high-bred face, aquiline nose, kind eyes, and a firm 
mouth. Richly, but, for an Oriental, quietly dressed, 
he looked every inch an aristocrat. 

David introduced him as our host, the Sheik. He 



134 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



welcomed us kindly and ushered us into the tent. 
Here we found fifteen other men — guests and elders 
of the tribe — who arose as we entered. David had 
sent a messenger to tell the Sheik of our contem- 
plated visit, so I found a place already prepared for 
my reception. A soft red Persian rug was laid at 
one end of the tent, opposite the Sheik's seat, with a 
padded camel's saddle on which to rest my head. The 
Sheik said that as I was from a foreign country he 
would not trouble me to take off my boots, as is the 
custom of Easterners on entering a dwelling of any 
sort. But when one is a guest it is always wise, I 
think, to fall in with the ways of the house ; accord- 
ingly, I told him I did not object to the custom, and 
forthwith began to struggle with my boots. They 
were high and close-fitting, and, after my wet ride, 
thick with mud and clay ; so the task of removing 
them was not easy, nor was I graceful in my efforts. 
I was quite consoled by hearing David tell the as- 
sembled guests that, in my own country, people only 
take off their boots on entering the house of some 
one they especially wish to honor. The Sheik bowed 
and looked pleased, and the rest of the party gazed 
on my mad struggles with a sort of awe. When at 
last the boots came off, I was more at ease to note 
my surroundings. 

The red rug and camel saddle evidently formed the 
place of honor, for the other guests sat cross-legged 
on mats. In front of me smouldered the fire, in which 
stood three blackened coffee-pots fastened together with 
chains. Just opposite and facing me on the other side 
of the fire, the Sheik sat on a low uncomfortable wooden 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



135 



stool. Behind him stood and sat his attendants, and 
to the left were guests and elders. 

A relay of men had arrived a few moments before 
me, and breakfast was preparing for them. The Sheik 
said if I did not wish to eat with these men, he would 
have a separate breakfast brought for me ; but I begged 
to be allowed to eat with the rest, and said that I was 
tired of eating alone. 

Breakfast was brought in. A great bowl filled 
with some combination of rice, meat, and lentils, — 
very thick, and just off the fire, — was borne by two 
servants and set down in the middle of the tent. A 
third servant laid a circle of flat loaves of unleavened 
bread, still soft and warm from the oven, about the 
bowl. Two smaller dishes — one of clotted milk, the 
other of wild honey — were placed near by. We drew 
up in a large circle about the ring of loaves and fell 
to eating. Then did I regret most heartily my folly 
in asking to eat with the others, for their table man- 
ners leave just a little to be desired. Spoons, forks, and 
knives were not used; each man ate in true Bedouin style, 
using the bare hand, too often unwashed, to ladle out a 
share from the main dish. The method of bread-eating 
was still more unique. My fellow-diners would break 
off pieces of a loaf and, folding them spoonwise, dip 
them into one or both of the smaller dishes, then swallow 
the improvised spoon and its contents at a mouthful. 

This, as I tell it, does not sound exactly appetizing, 
but I grew used to it after a while, and at last thought 
nothing of eating from the same dish into which a 
dozen other men plunged their hands. I could never 
become expert, though, in the Bedouin method of eat- 



136 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



ing from the main dish. This method consisted of 
rolling a handful of food into a ball and tossing it 
into the mouth. It is not easily learned. 

The custom of several men dipping bread into the 
same dish was common in the time of Christ. The 
Master named his betrayer as " One of the twelve 
that dippeth with me in the dish." 

The Sheik did not eat with us, but sat a little apart, 
in order, David said, to show his humility and his 
sense of his own unworthiness. This is done by al- 
most all Bedouin hosts. 

After we had finished eating, another party took 
our places. When, finally, everyone had been fed, 
coffee was made. A servant brought a mortar and 
pestle of Bashan oak, set it on the ground by the 
fire, and poured in coffee-beans, adding now and then 
pinches of spice from a pouch at his side. He then 
began to beat the mixture to a powder, playing a sort 
of rhythmic tattoo on the sides of the mortar as he 
worked. Coffee is always made in the guests' presence 
that they may see that no poison is put in it. This 
is much on the same plan as the old Scottish custom, 
which gave the " loving-cup" three handles; one han- 
dle to be held by the guest and the other two by the 
host, in order that he might have no hand free to 
stab his visitor while he drank. 

A great deal of pounded coffee was put in a very 
little hot water, and, when made, was served, un- 
sweetened, in small, handleless cups. In strength, it 
was the quintessence of coffee, and the spice was 
rather an improvement. Fresh coffee is made and 
drunk at least a dozen times a day. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



137 



There was no chimney in the tent, but the smoke 
escaped freely through the large meshes of the roof. 
It is an odd fact that though we could see through the 
holes in the woven roof and though smoke could escape 
with all ease, no rain ever penetrated, however hard the 
downpour might be. 

" Things are a little unsettled here ; " said David in 
English as we all sat smoking after the repast ; ".the 
tribe moves to the higher pasture grounds on the hills 
next week, and they are making ready to go." 

While the Sheik arbitrated a horse trade between two 
tribesmen, and some of the guests went to sleep, I made 
David explain some of the workings of the camp. While 
we talked a woman stood for a moment by the tent-door. 
She was very tall and finely built, and, despite her tat- 
tooing, was almost beautiful. Her face and carriage 
were queenly, and she reminded me of Boadicea. 
After a short survey she passed on and entered the 
harem. 

" That is the Sheik's favorite wife," explained David. 
" Do you see the tent-wall bulge out there ? That is 
where she and the other women are sitting. They 
spend much of their time leaning against the partition- 
curtain. They like to hear what the men talk about, 
and besides, they must be where they can hear the min- 
ute the Sheik calls for anything. Sarah sat in such a 
place when she heard Abraham talking with the two 
angels." 

It was a lazy, unexciting week I spent among the sons 
of Ishmael ; and I will hot detail it closely here. Dur- 
ing this time I learned and witnessed most of the cus- 
toms I have mentioned. I heard the desert songs sung 



138 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



at night beside camp-fires, where a crowd of listening 
warriors and shepherds sat grouped about the blaze, 
their eyes all fixed on the inspired singer who droned 
a series of nasal and guttural sounds in a minor key, to 
the vast delight of his audience. 

I also saw the desert sports. They are well worth 
seeing. Besides foot-racing and jumping, there were 
many clever horseback feats. A rider would drive his 
spear upright into the earth, then riding forward would 
seize it with one hand and gallop his horse about it in 
so small a circle as not to lose hold of the spear, or to 
dislodge it from the ground. I have seen two Bedouins 
charge towards each other with spears aloft, then, at a 
signal, plunge their spear-points into the ground, and, 
without pausing, gallop about the weapons in the man- 
ner I have described, and return to their former places. 
Another equestrian exercise was somewhat like our own 
game of tag, horses and men alike entering into the 
spirit of the thing, dodging and wheeling with wonder- 
ful quickness. 

We were regally entertained, and never have I met 
with greater kindness or more perfect courtesy than 
was shown by these tent-dwellers during our stay with 
them. 

Unfortunately, they had, at that time, no unpleasant- 
ness with neighboring tribes, so I can relate no soul-stir- 
ring adventures or say I beheld the war-songs realized 
and saw hecatombs of men slain. 

When our hosts broke camp and went to the moun- 
tains for better pasturage, we parted from them and 
turned our faces toward the Sea of Galilee, a clean 
camp, and civilized meals. 



CHAPTER XV. 



ONE OF JOSEPH S PITS — SEA OF GALILEE. 




E rode almost due south after leaving the 
camp of our Bedouin friends, and at noon 
stopped at a solitary ruined khan. The 
khan dated from the Roman period, and 
is built about a well. This well, say the 
Mohammedans, is the identical " pit " 
into which Joseph was lowered. There 
is no ground for such a belief ; but vul- 
gar fact and likelihood never stand in the 
way of a true tradition-hunter. I grew, 
during my sojourn in Syria, rather weary of seeing pits 
where Joseph was imprisoned. They fairly dot the 
country. The most probable of the several places is the 
well at Dothan, though even that is discredited by some 
authorities. It would seem from the many wells where 
this lowering feat is said to have been enacted, that 
Joseph's brethren made a tour of Syria, dropping the 
embryo patriarch into every empty pit they found. It 
was a bad habit, and I do not wonder that Joseph went 
to Egypt to get away from them. 

The khan where we lunched is now used only as a 
stopping-place for belated travelers. A few tramps and 
shepherds occasionally sleep there, also a soi-disant care- 
taker and his wife. I wandered through the dilapidated, 

139 



140 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



cave-like rooms and tried to climb to the roof, while 
David was arranging my luncheon on a semicircular 
parapet that stood, surrounded by a low masonry wall, 
some fifteen feet above the ground. Catching sight of 
me as I came back from exploring the khan, the drago- 
man leaned over the parapet and began to bemoan the 
fact that the wine-bottle had tumbled from the wall 
down on the rocks below. After our usual perform- 
ance, he drew the bottle from his saddlebags, set it on 
the improvised table, and, while I lunched, gave me an 
account of the well. 

" The Mohammedans all believe Joseph was lowered 
into this very well," he said. " The well was possibly 
here in the time of Joseph, for it is one of the oldest in 
Palestine ; but I don't believe Joseph ever came so far 
north. When Jacob told him to seek his brethren he 
thought they were somewhere near Nablous. It is not 
likely a little boy would have been sent alone on an 
errand as far as the Sea of Galilee." 

" Joseph was his father's favorite," I remarked, " I 
don't believe, myself, that Jacob would have sent him 
so far in an unsettled country. David, what do you 
think of Joseph? " 

Jamal glanced about him, then said confidentially, — 

" I think, sir, that Joseph was a prig." 

I agreed with him, and confessed that my sympathies 
had always been with the eleven brethren, who, dis- 
gusted with his tale-bearing, had thrust the self-right- 
eous little fellow into the pit. David and I were 
doubtless quite wrong in this idea of the worthy patri- 
arch. The thought was all out of keeping with Sun- 
day-school teachings ; but in places where such things 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



141 



are unknown and where the stage-setting still remains 
to tell us that the actors who walked through these 
scenes were ordinary men like ourselves, and not demi- 
gods, as we westerners fancy them, one is apt now and 
then to harbor unconventional notions. 

After lunch we rode through the hills toward the 
Sea of Galilee, stopping for cigarettes and tobacco at 
one of Rothschild's chimerical Jew colonies. This col- 
ony had a real street, the huts were numbered, and there 
was a shop or two. It seemed quite metropolitan after 
the wilderness. 

A Moslem village is on the hill-top near by, overlook- 
ing the Sea and Plains of Galilee. T$y way of variety 
it began to rain as we neared the village. A hundred 
yards down the hill was a native burying-ground, and 
as we rode past the village we saw that a funeral was 
in progress. Dismounting, we walked to the spot, and 
David, by a few inquiries, learned that a four-year-old 
child was to be buried. 

" If it had been a grown man we should have seen a 
great mourning," he told me, "but it is only a child — 
a little girl — and no one cares very much. Still, they 
mourn." 

As we neared the crowd of mourners I noted the sur- 
roundings. The hillside for some distance was dotted 
with egg-shaped areas of stones. One of these marked 
each grave ; tombstones and mounds being unheard-of 
touches of elegance. The method of interment is some- 
thing like this. The bottom of a grave is usually cov- 
ered with a layer of stones. On these is laid the body. 
Then comes some earth, and the grave is filled to the 
ground level with stones. The stones protect the dead 



142 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



from jackals and hyenas, against whom mere earth is 
no barrier. 

David and I stood on a rock above the head of the 
grave. At the foot of the grave was a crowd of men 
and women, weeping and looking somewhat bored. On 
the rock near sat half a dozen old men, the place of 
honor being occupied by an old priest, or imam, who 
muttered prayers very fast in a low tone, holding out 
his hands, palms upward. The other old men held 
their hands in the same attitude, and at each pause in 
the prayer groaned " Amen ! " 

David stood overlooking the grave and making con- 
solatory speeches to the crowd below, who responded 
with thanks and benedictions. He resembled some 
weird, gigantic raven, as he stood above the grave, 
draped in his streaming black cloak and hood, and 
giving forth consolation in hoarse, guttural Arabic. 
I told him of the resemblance afterward, and he laughed 
heartily over it. 

At last the grave was filled, and the mourners, turn- 
ing away, kissed each other, every one in turn ; and 
then adjourned to the village for a "funeral breakfast" 
(I think I coin that term), at the house of the bereaved 
family. We were invited to partake, but declined with 
thanks. 

On the way back to our horses I noticed several 
women at different graves, and asked David what they 
were doing there. 

" Whenever there is a funeral," he explained, " the 
other villagers who have dead friends or relatives take 
that time to come to the graveyard and mourn them." 

We stopped beside one group. It consisted of three 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



113 



women, one of whom, almost prostrate on the ground, 
her head covered with ashes, moaned out a chant often 
broken by sobs and wails. Two other women crouched 
beside her ; rocking back and forth, crooning a sort of 
song as accompaniment. 

" It is a widow," said David. " She is at the grave 
of her husband. The other two are friends who have 
come to mourn with her. She is singing of her loss." 

I append the song or dirge she chanted. I have 
translated it metrically and almost literally, from notes 
I made on the spot : — 

" I arose and came to the grave at the breaking of the day, 
To the grave on the barren hillside where Abou, my husband, 
lay. 

I called to him by his name, but no answer came back again ; 
Once more I repeated my call but repeated it all in vain. 
His dear voice will never speak from his bed beneath the stones, 
He sleeps too deeply the sleep of death to hark to the widow's 
moans. 

Who will care for his children now since my prayers are all 
unheard ? 

Ah, form in the grave there among the rocks! answer one single 
word ! " 

The foregoing is as nearly as possible an exact trans- 
lation of the dirge I heard the woman chant at her 
husband's grave. There is a family resemblance among 
all such chants in the East. 

Riding on, we came, about five in the afternoon, to 
the lower ground about the Sea of Galilee. The Waters 
of Merom are over five hundred feet above the level 
of the Mediterranean, while the waters of Galilee are 
about six hundred and fifty feet below the greater sea. 



144 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



The two inland lakes, Merom and Gennesaret, lie so near 
each other that at a few miles' distance both can be 
seen in the same glance. The Sea of Galilee is disap- 
pointing as to size, for it is only seven miles wide by 
fifteen miles long. Looking down from the mountains 
I could take in through the clear atmosphere a pano- 
rama of the whole lake. 

We halted our horses, and David pointed out the 
different points of interest. The lake is quite regularly 
oblong in shape, its length lying from north and north- 
east to south. High, irregular mountains fringe it. 
On the north, reaching to the water's edge, we saw a 
flat green plain. This is the traditional and most 
probable spot where the five thousand " sat down by 
companies on the green grass " and were miraculously 
fed by Christ. Farther down, to the right, between 
Magdala and Bethsaida, lies another green space close to 
the lake and partly covered with low trees. Here it was 
that the three thousand are believed to have been fed. 

The stone-walled enclosure just below the meadow of 
Five Thousand marks the site of Capernaum ; some 
distance to the south, along the lake, are a fisherman's 
hut and a tent — all that remains of Bethsaida. Beyond 
this, and far behind the Plain of the Three Thousand, 
rises a mountain at whose base is a patch of grass, green 
all the year. The mountain has two horns, that nearest 
the strip of verdure being the scene of the Sermon on 
the Mount. Opposite this, to the northwest, is a higher 
mountain on whose top, the highest point in Galilee, is 
the city of Safed, visible for miles on every side. At 
this city our Lord may have looked when, preaching in 
full sight of it He said, — 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



147 



" A city set upon a hill cannot be hid." 

Here too the orthodox Jews of Syria prophesy that 
Christ will pause on His earthward journey, just before 
" his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives." 

Farther on, beside the lake, near the spot where the 
vivid green merges into dull brown, lies what is left of 
Magdala ; beyond this, on the western shore, a dirty 
yellowish-gray city runs out into the water itself. This 
city is the Tiberias of to-day and of eighteen hundred 
years ago. We never hear of Christ's entering or 
preaching in this town, which is strange, since, at the 
time of His ministry, it must have been an important 
place. 

On the opposite side of the Lake are some mountains 
that have formed unending sources of delight to legend 
makers. Scarcely a peak is free from at least one 
tradition. The favorite tradition hangs about a cone- 
shaped hill near the water. This is supposed to be 
the " steep place " whence the herd of swine rushed 
violently into the sea. 

The sea itself is dotted with fishing-boats, broad, awk- 
ward craft, propelled by oars so heavy and long that the 
rower is forced to stand up to pull. I have been rowed 
in some of these boats, and I cheerfully award them 
the palm over the whole maritime world for slowness. 
As for the Oriental oarsmen, they fairly revel in their 
own lazy motions ; and when slow boats and slower boat- 
men combine, woe to the western passenger's nerves. 

Europeans have declared to me that such a storm as 
that mentioned in the New Testament (Mark iv. 37) 
could not have arisen on so small a body of water as 
the Sea of Galilee. This is absurd. The natives are 



148 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



always in great dread of the Galilee storms ; and, a few 
months before my arrival, a tempest had swept down 
the Lake from east to west, with such force as to wash 
away more than thirty houses in Tiberias. These squalls 
arise suddenly, and, as is usual on mountain lakes, come 
unannounced. Small wonder that the disciples, native 
peasants and fishermen for the most part, called on then- 
Lord in fear when the first blast struck them, and " the 
waves beat into the ship so that it was full." 

We rode down a wady (gorge) between two hills into 
the plain of Galilee, and so on to our camp, which was 
pitched on the beach at Bethsaida, within thirty feet of 
the water. 

" We are almost midway between the two places 
where the multitude was fed," said David as we smoked 
together on the beach that night. " Our Lord Jesus 
Christ," — David, in using the title, always spoke with 
a simple reverence that brought out the full meaning 
of the words — " Our Lord Jesus Christ went from one 
plain to the other in a boat, you remember, sir. He 
must have passed quite close to where we sit now." 

Every foot of land about this little inland sheet of 
water, so small yet so world-famed, is hallowed by some 
act, word, or journey of the Master, and I think both of 
us felt that we were indeed treading upon "holy 
ground." 

It was pleasant, after camping long in rainy uplands, 
to sleep that night in a dry tent, lulled by the lapping 
of waves on the shore. The cold, damp air had changed 
to a warm breeze, and the moon was up. The surround- 
ings were more like those of an evening on the Italian 
Lakes than of a winter's night in Syria. 




The Wandering Field of Joseph. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



CAPERNAUM — TIBERIAS. 



AVID gave orders in the morning 
for our camp to be struck and car- 
ried ahead to the other side of Tibe- 
rias, while he and I should ride to 
Capernaum and come back by a 
shorter route. Capernaum lies a 
few miles to the north, and to reach 
it we skirted the shore, passing a 
stream and a ruined Roman aque- 
duct on the way. A modern house 
stands a quarter-mile from Beth- 
saida, in which lives a priest who 
built it that he might spend his last 
days in Galilee. I found him a hospitable, interesting 
old fellow, who spoke several languages and had no 

149 




150 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



trace of the religious hermit about him. When he 
heard we were going to Capernaum he asked whether 
we were going by land or in a boat. I told him I 
expected to ride, and he answered : — 

" I thought you might be going by boat, like 

Dr. " (naming the hero of the Mejdel es Shems 

dressing episode), " who came here with Jamal." 

Dragoman and priest both laughed; then the latter 
explained to me that the great divine — who seemed to 
have traveled under an unlucky star — had wished to 
sail on the Sea of Galilee ; that David had accordingly 
hired a boat at some enormous figure (they charge un- 
heard-of prices for boats on the Lake), and the whole 
party had rowed from Bethsaida to Capernaum, leaving 
the horses in camp. A light breeze sprang up while 
they were on the water, and the clergyman, remember- 
ing a scriptural storm in the same place, became fright- 
ened and demanded to be set on shore. He was at last 
induced to stay in the boat until it reached Capernaum, 
but, the visit over, no persuasion or argument could 
beguile him into venturing again on the water. In 
vain did David show that there was no danger and that 
the Lake was as calm as a mill-pond. The words : 
"And behold there arose a great tempest on the sea," 
no doubt rang warningly in the clergyman's ears, and 
he was firm in his refusal. The upshot of the matter 
was that they all — there were three ladies in the 
party — were forced to walk back the entire distance 
to Bethsaida. 

" It had rained the night before," finished the priest, 
" and the mud was ankle-deep. None of the party 
looked happy when they got back." 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 151 



David, as we rode to Capernaum after talking with 
the priest, was somewhat downcast. Personally, he 
never told of the many follies and weaknesses common 
among his travelers, and I think he resented the priest's 
having done it. I had tried to draw him out more than 
once on the subject of the reverend gentleman's infirm- 
ities, but always in vain. 

I have noticed that here in the wilderness a traveler's 
real character is sure to assert itself. In cities, whether 
at home or abroad, he is more or less hemmed in by 
conventionality, and his rough edges are continually 
smoothed down by friction with fellow-men. But when 
miles away from civilization, freed from its luxuries and 
its rigid laws, the veneer wears off and he stands out 
as Nature made him — frequently showing a wretched 
piece of work on Nature's part. 

We praise the hero of a play who, when fortune and 
friends desert him, can still stride down to the footlights 
and express sentiments. Let us watch the same hero, 
in the wilderness, coming back to camp after a long 
day's ride in the rain, — soaked to the skin, suffering 
from neuralgia, his favorite pipe lost, — to find that his 
tent has blown down and the rain has spoiled his dinner. 
Under these circumstances we can gain a truer insight 
into his character than when we saw it tested merely by 
such bagatelles as loss of money and friends. Possibly, 
he will still express sentiments. But if he does, they 
will be of a different sort. 

We came, after riding along the shore, to a wall that 
enclosed a space about two hundred yards square. 
Leaving the horses with Serkeese, we entered the 
enclosure. At first glance, we saw a field, irregular 



152 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



and overgrown, broken capitals and columns peeping 
here and there through the rank grass ; a broad, carved 
pillar lying lengthwise and rising above the under- 
growth ; a small Bedouin tent nestling against the 
sunny side of the enclosure wall ; a ruined khan, fall- 
ing to pieces at the lake-end wall ; and at the other end, 




Capernaum — "Desolation, ruins, and tangled grass." 



an unfinished dwarf monastery, closed and ugly. Deso- 
lation, ruins, and tangled grass ; this is Capernaum, the 
city Christ loved. I think no traveler ever entered its 
walls without recalling the regretful yet unchange- 
able decree: "And thou, Capernaum, which art ex- 
alted to heaven shalt be brought down to hell. 
For if the mighty works which have been done in thee 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



153 



had been done in Sodom it would have remained until 
this day." 

An old man — a veritable patriarch — came from the 
black tent in answer to David's call. This man was 
care-taker of the place and belonged to no special tribe. 
His total household, consisting of two wives, a little 
girl, and a very fat little dog, followed him from the 
tent and stood gazing at us. As we walked among 
the broken stones and high grass, David said : — 

" There were many more ruins here a few years ago, 
but the Latins (Roman Catholics) are building that 
monastery, and they work into it all the stones they 
can find. Here, beside this pillar used to stand a slab 
with manna-pots engraved on it. I see they have used 
that too. These ruins all belonged to the Capernaum 
synagogue ; and the tablet of the manna-pots was the 
best preserved bit left. 

" Dr. and some other clergymen told me that our 

Lord always chose the examples and comparisons for his 
sermons from things that were close at hand, and that 
He may have pointed to these very manna-pots when he 
said, 4 Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness.' " 

I took a few photographs of the ruins and then 
wished to take one of the old care-taker and his family, 
with their tent as a background. It was not easy to 
group them, for the little girl evidently thought I had 
a design on her beloved dog, the only dog, by the way, 
that I saw kept as a pet in the East, and whenever I 
came near, she seized the beast in both arms and bolted 
into the tent. At length I overcame her fears, and, by 
giving her backsheesh and making friends with the 
dog, I was able to take the photograph. 



154 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



As we left Capernaum, David pointed out Chorazin, 
of which little more remains than of Capernaum. The 
trio — Bethsaida, Capernaum, and Chorazin — have in- 
deed fulfilled their curse. Not five unruined buildings 
are left standing in all three towns. 

We stopped at our last night's camp on our way to 
Tiberias, and found the work of packing nearly finished. 
I dismounted to put on my riding-boots, and in doing so 
incautiously loosed my hold on Massoud's bridle before 
Serkeese came up to take him. I heard a sudden scurry 
of feet, and looking back, saw my mount gallop off to 
a hedge and begin to nibble at some twigs. David 
groaned. 

" Heaven knows when he will get him again," said 
he. " Once I was riding that horse in the Plain of 
Esdraelon, and I left him loose for a second. It was 
twelve whole hours before he let us catch him." 

The subject of these remarks still ate at the hedge, 
the picture of patience and stolidity, and, as I went 
toward him, paid no attention to me. It was not until 
I reached out my arm* to catch his rein that he seemed 
to notice my presence. Then he wheeled, his hoofs 
played within six inches of my face, and with a leap he 
was over the hedge and stood meek and sad on the other 
side. There he waited until the muleteers had crept 
steadily about him, and just as the circle was nearly 
formed, dashed through the only open space left, and 
cantered leisurely off toward the hills. I sat down on 
the saddle-bags, lighted a cigar, and watched the fun. 
For a solid hour a dozen men, mounted and on foot, 
chased, cursed, and sought to beguile that little horse. 
Finally he made a detour, cantered down from the hills, 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



155 



and, of his own accord came back to camp. When the 
pursuers returned, panting and profane, he was waiting 
beside me. 

We started for Tiberias ; riding through a mountain- 
pass made by the Romans and still bearing marks of 
their chariot-wheels in the soft limestone. Cyclamen 
and a dozen other species of flowering plants grew here, 
as at Dog River. Rocks arched over the pass, shading 
it ; and a strong Lake breeze made us forget the heat. 
As we came down into the green Plain of the Three 
Thousand, we met a drove of half-trained camels, many 
not yet grown, turned out to graze. Farther on a shep- 
herd-boy sat under the " wide-spreading shade " of a 
terebinth tree, his flock around him, playing on a reed 
flute. It was like a scene from Virgil's Eclogues. 

Then the sky darkened and the rain began to fall. 
We passed Magdala, and so on to Tiberias. On the 
road is a tomb of a Moslem saint. Such tombs are plen- 
tiful through Sjaia ; plain mounds or blocks of stone 
and plaster, under solitary trees whose branches are 
hung with myriads of rags. These tokens are tied on 
by devotees, and give the entombed saints' burying 
places, to say the least, a unique aspect. 

We stopped but a short time in Tiberias. For a city 
of its size it really deserves some sort of prize for the 
unexcelled filth of its streets and houses. I may be 
prejudiced, for I visited the town in the rainy season and 
was almost mired once or twice in deep mud. Contrast- 
ing strongly with the rest of the town is the Scotch 
Hospital on the outskirts. This hospital has been re- 
cently built, and is large, airy, and clean. A Scotch 
doctor, with a staff of trained nurses, presides over it. 



156 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



My main reason for visiting Tiberias was a wish to 
learn something of the custom of washing the dead in 
the Lake. I was unfortunate in not being able to see 
this ceremony ; the European residents have for the time 
stopped the practice. I heard, however, many more or 
less revolting accounts of it from eye-witnesses. It is a 
Jewish custom, and, as Tiberias is a Jewish city, is 
practiced there almost exclusively. A sect correspond- 
ing with the Paraschites of ancient Egypt is set apart 
to do the washing. Their duty is to prepare the bodies 
in a certain way and dip them in the water with some 
sort of religious ceremony. Though I stayed near 
Tiberias for the purpose, I was never able to see this ; 
and indeed, after the descriptions I had heard, I was 
rather glad of the disappointment. 

We encamped about a mile beyond Tiberias, still on 
the shore, and I visited the hot mineral baths. I was 
the only visitor at that time, for it was winter ; but 
in the season hundreds of people come to these springs 
and stay for weeks. 

We saw sometimes large patches of white on the 
Lake. These were made up, David said, of great flocks 
of pelicans. Wild ducks, also, we saw in great num- 
bers ; and the surrounding hills were full of game. I 
asked David if many Europeans came here to shoot. 

" Not now," he answered. " At one time quite a 
number came. Did I ever tell you, sir, of the English- 
man who was traveling with me and got into such 
trouble shooting here ? " 

I had heard an outline of the story from some people 
at Beirut, but I asked David to tell it. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



STORY OF A LORDLINGS SCRAPE — BEDOUIN BANDIT 

CANA IN GALILEE. 









1 








E was the son of an English lord," 
began David, " and was making 
a tour of Palestine after he left 
Oxford. When we came to the 
Sea of Galilee, he saw the wild 
ducks and wanted to shoot some. 
I hired a man from Tiberias to 
row him, and they started after 
a flock of ducks that was swim- 
ming about half a mile from 
shore. The Englishman had a 
double-barreled gun loaded with 
heavy shot ; — double B, I think 
the size was. Some ducks rose in front of the boat, and 
the Englishman called to his rower to stoop down while 
he fired at them over his head. The man did as he was 
told; but after he heard the gun go off he raised his 
head again, forgetting there was a second barrel. Just 
as he rose, the second barrel was fired and half of the 
poor fellow's head was blown off. I saw him afterward. 
He was not good to look at. The Englishman went 
almost crazy. You see he was young and not used to 
such sights. I got him back to camp, and sent a mes- 

157 



158 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



senger over to the garrison after soldiers, for I knew 
what would happen. The dead oarsman was carried 
home ; we had not been in camp half an hour when the 
people of Tiberias came out in a great throng and sur- 
rounded us, calling on me to give the Englishman up 
to them to be killed. I tried to quiet them, but they 
grew more and more angry every minute. I saw noth- 
ing could be done to save my howaji unless the soldiers 
came soon. I managed to keep the crowd at a distance 
for a few minutes, and at last, just as their patience was 
gone, and they were making ready to rush in and kill 
him in spite of me, the soldiers rode up and drove them 
back. Then there was a long dispute and it ended in 
the Englishman's being set free on condition that he 
would pay five pounds a year as long as he lived to the 
relations of the dead man." 
" I wonder if he still pays it." 

" I don't know, sir. He was very glad to get off so 
easily at the time, for he was nearly dead with fear. 
He had been brave enough while the real danger lasted, 
but as soon as he saw there was a chance of escape he 
broke down." 

David told me the story as we were leaving Tiberias. 
We climbed a steep hill back of the city, often leaving 
the apology for a road that ran to the summit. Along 
this road were foot-marks of camels. In one place the 
soft mud was marked by a long, irregular footprint. 
I called David's attention to it. 

" That is where a camel has slipped and fallen," he 
said. " See, there is the place where his body went 
down, just the other side of the foot-mark. The camels 
are sure-footed and they don't slip often ; but when 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



159 



they do slip, unless they can catch themselves quickly, 
they usually fall and break a leg. Then they have to 
be killed." 

We had reached the hill-top, and now rode along a 
narrow path that lay on the very edge of a cliff, over- 
hanging the sea. I suppose we were really some dis- 
tance beyond the water, but at that height it seemed 
directly below us. On one side of the path was a 
shelving bank perhaps eight feet high ; on the other 
a sheer drop to the low grounds beneath. The path 
itself, barely wide enough for two horses to pass by 
each other, was of limestone, slippery with rain, and 
lay at the very edge of a precipice with no barrier to 
prevent travelers from falling. As we were traversing 
this in single file, sticking to the landward side, a 
clatter of hoofs sounded behind us, and two well- 
mounted Bedouins galloped by. One was some dis- 
tance in front, and the other, in his haste to catch up, 
rode carelessly. As he passed us, he was forced to ride 
near the cliff's edge, and his horse's left hind-foot 
slipped over the crumbling side. With a jerk of the 
rein and a few words the rider hurried on, without even 
taking the trouble to turn from the dangerous edge. 
Along the brink he went, and fifty yards further on his 
horse's fore-foot slipped over. The hind-foot clawed des- 
perately at the soft stone, and for an instant horse and 
rider seemed literally to sway in mid-air. I believe 
that five extra pounds of weight, or a stiff breeze 
toward the seaward side, would have sent them both 
over the precipice. The whole struggle lasted less 
than ten seconds ; the Bedouin cursed his horse and 
struck him on the head ; then, as the beast with a grand 



160 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



effort regained his footing, he cantered on, still at the 
edge, as though nothing had happened. He soon 
caught up with his companion, who had paused and 
now sat laughing at the other's awkwardness, and the 
two turned out of sight round a curve. 

The sight, and the danger which the man underwent, 
had startled me ; but David thought less of it. 

" They are used to perils," he said. 44 Life is not held 
as highly here as in European countries." 

Leaving the cliff we crossed a long irregular plateau. 
In the middle of it we met a solitary horseman. I should 
not have given the man a second glance had not David 
pointed him out. 

" That is a Bedouin and a famous robber," said he. 
"He dare not go near any garrison town." 

The rider, wrapped in a long, ragged abieh and 
mounted on an ungroomed sorrel, looked anything but 
romantic. As he drew near I was able to take in every 
detail of his appearance, from the fierce eyes and thin 
lips to the unshod feet. I saw the end of a scabbard 
below his cloak. 

" He looks hard up," I said to David. " Do you sup- 
pose he will sell his sword ? I'd like it as a memento." 

We stopped as he reached us, and asked if he would 
part with it. At first he refused ; then said as he was 
poor we might have it for twelve mejidie, about ten dol- 
lars. He drew the weapon and handed it to me for in- 
spection. It was the regulation Bedouin sword, crooked 
at the end of the hilt to keep it from slipping from the 
hand, and had a straight steel guard and a long curved 
blade like that of a saber. Ten inches from the point 
was a deep dent, caused by some heavy blow. The edge 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



161 



was like a razor's for sharpness, and from general ap- 
pearances I thought the weapon must be old. David 
agreed with me, and I was about to pay the price asked, 
when he begged me to let him do a little bargaining, 
and said he could get it more cheaply than I. He was 
right. Turning to the robber, who had been eying our 
pistols with disfavor, as no doubt he thought they alone 
stood between him and a good prize, David said in 
Arabic, — 

" The howaji doesn't care for this sword. He says it 
has a dent on it and is too old to be of any use." 

The robber burst into a flood of praises over the 
weapon. It was not injured by the dent ; his own 
grandfather, Sheik Something-or-other, had carried it in 
fight ; he himself — 

David cut him short. 

44 The howaji doesn't care to hear all that. He has 
eyes of his own, and can see how worthless the thing is. 
But he says, as you seem poor, he will take it and give 
you two mejidie ($1.70) for backsheesh." 

The Bedouin fairly shrieked with amazement. Did 
we want to rob him (that was good, too !), that we 
offered so paltry a price ? By the beard of his father it 
was worth double Avhat he had asked for it. And to be 
offered two miserable little mejidie. 

u The sword is worth twelve mejidie," I said in Eng- 
lish. 

" But he will sell it for two," answered David. " Give 
back the sword, sir, as if you didn't care for it, and ride 
on. 

I knew by experience that David never erred in judg- 
ing his own race, so I did as he advised. Thrusting the 

M 



162 



STBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



sword back into its owner's hand, I shook my head and 
rode on, followed by Jamal. A few minutes later we 
were overtaken by our friend, the robber. He gave me 
the sword and held out his hand. 

" He will take the two mejidies, sir," David said, 
laughing. 

" I want the scabbard, too," I insisted. " It will be of 
no use to him without the sword." 

The Bedouin grumbled a little ; but handed it over 
along with the shoulder-belt from which it hung. I felt 
uncomfortable at having bought the sword for so much 
less than its value, but David consoled me with the 
thought that its owner had probably robbed fellow-coun- 
trymen of mine to a much greater extent in his time. I 
gave it to Serkeese to carry for me and we went on. At 
lunch-time David remarked that the sword was sharp 
enough to shave with, and I suggested trying it on Ser- 
keese's scrubby beard. The groom laughed when the 
idea was translated to him, but evidently thought I 
might be in earnest. He watched me furtively all the 
afternoon, and the next morning appeared with a clean- 
shaven chin, thus putting an end to any intentions I 
might have had in the tonsorial line. 

About four in the afternoon we rode into Cana. Here 
are two churches, and in one of them stand the earthen 
jars which, says tradition, held the water that Christ 
turned to wine. These jars have a suspiciously modern 
look, but the old priest in charge spoke so confidently, 
and showed them off so proudly, that I had not the heart 
to air my scepticism. 

Cana is now a mere village, but cleaner and more 
prosperous-looking than many we had seen. It holds 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



163 



two or three good-sized houses, besides a Greek and a 
Latin church. The Greek priest who had shown us 
the wine-jars invited us to have a cup of coffee at his 
house. 

The Greek priest is a common figure in every Eastern 
crowd. His costume consists of a long black robe and 
of headgear that looks like a high hat worn upside 
down ; the wearer's head being inserted in the crown, 
while at the very top spreads the brim. Greek priests 
usually wear the hair and beard long and unkempt. 

We crossed over from the church to the priest's house, 
where we sat down in the doorway and drank black 
coffee. The priest talked Arabic with David, while 
his niece, a slender, European-looking girl who spoke 
French, showed me some silver ornaments she had 
bought at Jerusalem ; and a crowd of villagers and 
farmers (Cana is in the center of a farming-district) 
gathered about the door or brought curios to sell. 

After an hour's rest we rode away. We climbed 
sloping mountains for the next hour or so, then, reach- 
ing the top of a high hill, skirted it and came to a 
regular roadway. We followed this over the crest, and 
then paused. 

On the hill whose opposite side we had climbed lay 
Nazareth, the city of Christ, surrounded by green palms, 
the white walls flushing in the sunset. It was a fair 
sight, and we gazed on it for several minutes without 
speaking. Then as the sunset flush died away, we rode 
down through the early twilight into the city* 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



IN NAZARETH — A HOUSE OF MOURNING. 



AZARETH is built into a crescent- 
shaped hillside and extends from 
the summit down into the plain 
beneath. Like many cities of Pales- 
tine it has one dominating religion. 
Tiberias is a thoroughly Jewish 
town ; Nablous (Shechem) is Mos- 
lem ; while Nazareth is largely 
made up of Christians. 

The location is one of the finest 
in Syria, and rich foliage, contrast- 
ing with the white walls, adds 
greatly to the town's picturesque 
beauty. The citizens also have a thrifty, well-kept look 
and the houses are, as a rule, fairly large, light, and 
clean. 

In the plain just beyond the last house, lies the thresh- 
ing-floor, and here we were to have camped ; but the 
canteen-mule had as usual got into trouble ; this time 
having lodged his burden somewhere between two rocks, 
thus stopping the train for more than an hour, and when 
at last the camp was pitched, the tents were found too wet 
for comfort. So we put up at the one hotel of the place. 
This bore the sign : " Hotel de Nazareth." I cannot say 

164 




STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



167 



why this sign was written in French, unless it was be- 
cause none of the hostelry's inmates understood that 
language. Here I was provided with a room. John 
and his cooking outfit took possession of the kitchen 
and prepared my meals as usual. There were no other 
guests at the time, so I had the entire hotel, fully six 
rooms, at my disposal ; and, beyond the ordinary Eastern 




The Fountain of the Virgin. 



modicum of fleas and mosquitoes, I was made quite 
comfortable. 

David brought his nephew, Nasif Jamal, a graduate 
of the American College at Beirut, and son of a Church 
of England clergyman, to see me that evening, and 
detailed him to act as my guide through Nazareth. 
Young Jamal was about twenty-one, spoke English, 



168 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



French, and Arabic perfectly, and was well known in the 
town. He and I mapped out a scheme of sight-seeing, 
and early next morning started to carry it into operation. 
Our first trip was to the Fountain of the Virgin. This 
is of stone and is hollowed out in a hillside on one of 
the main streets. The spring itself is a little below the 
street level, and a few stone steps lead down to it. An 
open space at the foot of these steps is filled, morning 
and evening, with women who come for water, and who 
unconsciously form a pretty picture in their many-hued 
gowns and head-dresses. Women of all ages and reli- 
gions come here, from mere children, sickly-looking and 
grave from the worry of keeping house at an age when 
they ought still to be in the nursery, to wrinkled old 
hags who creep out to gossip with their busier neighbors. 
Christian women at the Fountain wear gay head-dresses 
and leave the face bare, while their Moslem sisters must 
wear izzar and veil. 

A certain air of cleanliness and health distinguishes 
the women of Nazareth from those of the villages. 

Only one water-jar can be filled at a time ; when it is 
full the bearer balances it on her head and makes way 
for the next comer. Sometimes a number of women 
reach the Fountain simultaneously; in which case quar- 
rels or even hand-to-hand (or hand-to-hair) fights for 
precedence ensue. This spring is the only regular 
water supply Nazareth can boast, and in the autumn 
it becomes almost dry. 

We went on to the Latin Church, a building which, 
though less than two hundred years old, is believed by 
devotees to cover several sacred places. Here, crossing 
the long pillared nave and passing the gaudy altar, we 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



169 



went down a flight of steps into the crypt and were 
shown the kitchen, a room roughly hewed out of stone, 
and the well where Mary was working when the Holy 
Ghost appeared to her. The kitchen and a flight of 
stone stairs beyond it were found, said the obese little 
sacristan, when the church's foundations were dug. 

We went next to the Greek Church, where we were 
shown another well. This, a sacristan told us, was the 
authentic Fountain where Mary was drawing water 
when the Spirit came. In the church nave we saw 
many pictures of this meeting. Most of them were 
crudely frescoed, and showed the Holy Spirit standing 
in the air three feet above the earth before the Virgin, 
Greek words issuing from the mouth of each, after the 
fashion of school-boy cartoons. 

" In how many places did Mary live, anyway ? " 
I asked Nasif. " This is the third Fountain we've seen 
already. Are there many more ? " 

The boy looked a little shocked as he answered : — 

" No one knows the real place where her house stood. 
This part of the town is quite new; the old town is 
higher up the hill. She probably lived somewhere 
above this neighborhood. But such superstitions as 
those of the Fountain and Kitchen are needed to keep 
up the zeal of our native Christians. In America you 
are so far advanced that you need object lessons like 
these no longer. Here it is very different." 

I think he was right ; his words have since given me 
more patience with many things that would otherwise 
have seemed mere mummery. 

We went through the convent of the Franciscans, 
after leaving the churches, and saw pictures of saints, 



170 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



patriarchs, and prophets ad lib. ; then followed Don 
Juan's example in 

" Turning from grisly saints and martyrs hairy 
To sweeter pictures of the Virgin Mary," 

a number of which adorn the walls of the Franciscan 
chapel. 

We passed the day in wandering through Nazareth, 
one of our first visits being paid to the carpenter shops 
that every traveler goes to see. These are no doubt 
quite changed since the days of the great Carpenter of 
Nazareth ; new implements, new furniture, and new 
styles of working having since come into vogue. The 
shops are open, and many craftsmen work in the street 
itself. 

The Nazarene children are more like those of the 
Occident than any others I had seen in Syria. Most of 
them go to school and are made to wash. This may 
account for their superiority over the little peasants we 
had seen. As we turned a corner we met a crowd of 
boys running, while behind them trotted a tame gazelle 
that looked out of place, but quite unconcerned, on 
stone pavements and between lines of shops. 

We stayed for several days in Nazareth, for a heavy 
rain-storm came up and made the Plain of Esdraelon 
so soft as to be impassable. Whenever it did not rain 
too hard, Nasif and I were out of doors, either riding 
over the surrounding hills, or wandering about the 
town. On one of our rides my guide pointed out the 
traditional Mount of Precipitation ; the hill to whose 
crest the men of Nazareth, angered that a carpenter's 
son should speak so boldly in their synagogue, hurried 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



171 



Christ when they " rose up and thrust him out of the 
city and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon 
their city was built, that they might cast him down 
headlong." 

That the hill now shown to travelers is the real 
Mount of Precipitation is impossible; for the steep 
hill, with its precipitous sides, is several miles east of 
Nazareth, and on a separate range of hills. The moun- 
tain on whose side Nazareth is built is in many places 
precipitous ; to one of its several cliffs, in all proba- 
bility, the Master was led, for no stretch of the imagina- 
tion could make the distant and traditional Mount of 
Precipitation "the brow of the hill whereon the city 
was built." 

Few passages in the Bible show more clearly the God's 
sublime contempt for mere earthly might than that de- 
scribing Christ's ejectment from Nazareth. Jesus, the 
carpenter's son, having been dragged by a mob from 
the synagogue to the cliff's edge, the Deity suddenly 
asserted Himself, and, wearied at last by their violence 
and obstinacy, "passing through the midst of them, 
went his way." 

We visited, one afternoon, the home of a farmer in 
the lower quarter of Nazareth. The house consisted 
of one large room built like the stable of a khan. 
When we entered, the farmer's family was collected 
and was waiting for supper. The meal was served on 
the narrow platform, and on this platform the whole 
family, consisting of an old man and woman, their son 
and his wife and six children, were accustomed to sleep. 
On the earthen floor just below slept the live stock of 
the household. I made a rapid census of these, and 



172 



STBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



found there were four cows, a calf, two camels, and two 
donkeys. The only means of ventilation was through 
the wide doorway ; and at night this door was closed 
for fear of thieves. The weather was quite warm, too. 
I had sometimes read of a dozen emigrants sleeping in 
one room in New York or London slums. But that was 
a mere nothing when compared to this unaired combina- 
tion of stable and bedroom, where ten human beings 
and nine dumb animals sleep, eat, and live. 

The morning before I left Nazareth, Nasif came early 
to the hotel and told me that a young man had died in 
the next street, and that the women were wailing over 
his body. I had wanted to see something of this sort, 
so I followed Nasif to the house of mourning. 

I heard, as we went in, the well-known sound of the 
mourning chant, coming from an unfurnished front 
room that opened on the street. Near the door and 
about the walls we saw a swarm of children ; the cen- 
tral space was filled by about fifty women kneeling 
and sitting on the floor around a bier. On the bier 
lay, with uncovered face, the body of a boy, perhaps 
sixteen years old, swathed in white, a white turban on 
his head, and a band passed under his chin. The arms 
lay straight at the sides, and a pair of vivid scarlet 
slippers stuck out incongruously from the bottom of 
the sheet. 

One woman would sing a sentence or two in a 
moaning, drawling voice, and the others would chant 
it after her, clapping their hands. Then a moment's 
silence, broken only by an occasional sob, after which 
the first woman would sing once more, the chorus, 
weeping and clapping their hands, repeating her words. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



173 



The song was a panegyric on the dead boy, and was 
dragged on for perhaps half an hour. 

Then a boy forced his way through the crowd and 
handed one of the women a huge bunch of some green 
plant like parsley. The woman took the bunch and 
laid sprays about the corpse's head — literally "gar- 
nishing " it. She and the rest stopped singing and 
gazed at the artistic bit of decoration in silent ad- 
miration. 

The rudely broken quiet of death hung once more 
over the room. No one spoke, and through the still- 
ness came an incessant buzz-z-z of blue flies about the 
dead boy's face. 

At length, with a yell, the leader of the singing 
jumped to her feet, and, striking her hands together 
over her head, burst out in a new chant more dolorous 
than the first, hopping from one foot to the other with 
each word. The rest of the women rose and followed 
her example in word and act, each striving to outdo 
the others. The noise grew deafening, and clouds of 
dust rose under the stamping feet. 

The body, garnished at the head and shod in scarlet 
leather, — a hideous travesty on the majesty of death, — 
lay stiffly in the centre of this Bedlam. 

One thing alone was out of keeping with the sur- 
rounding turmoil. At the head of the corpse knelt 
a woman wrapped in a black robe. Throughout the 
whole affair she had uttered no word, nor had she so 
much as glanced at her fellow-mourners. Pale and 
still she knelt there, a look of quiet misery in her 
patient large eyes. 

" Who is she ? " I whispered to Nasif. 



174 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" The boy's mother," he answered. 

She did not once turn her eyes from the boy or 
move, except now and then to put out her hand and 
smooth a stray lock of hair that had been shaken loose 
from under his turban. Once, when she did this, she 
stroked his forehead and smiled. 

Seeing the smile, her singing sister stopped clapping 
long enough to point at her, and screamed out some 
words, evidently in rebuke. The fellow-singers caught 
up the rebuke, moaning it dolorously and shaking their 
heads at the offender. Then, evidently feeling that 
they had wasted quite enough time on such an un- 
important person as the mother, they took up the 
song and dance once more. We left them in the 
thick of it, and far down the street we could hear them. 

" You noticed no men were there ? " said Nasif . 
" The men — friends of the boy's father — will come 
later with the priests (the family are Latins), and 
take the body to be buried. They will bring the 
coffin with them. The women will keep on singing 
until the men come ; then they will stop. Their part 
will be done, for they never follow the body to the 
church or to the grave." 

We met the procession of men a furlong or two 
farther on, marching solemnly through the streets, 
headed by three priests and a small troop of incense 
bearers. In the middle, an empty coffin was carried 
on the shoulders of four men. It was bright red, 
decorated with white bars and crosses. A cover of 
the same hue was carried under the arm of a fifth 
mourner. We watched them pass ; and, a few mo- 
ments later the mourning chant died away. 



175 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" How quiet the mother was," said Nasif, recurring 
to the scene among the women. " She seemed to care 
less than any of them." 




"An Empty Coffin was carried on the Shoulders of Four Men." 



CHAPTER XIX. 



ESDRAELON — NAIN — JEZREEL — GIDEON'S FOUNTAIN 

GILBOA. 

[E rain, as I have said, held me at 
Nazareth longer than I had planned 
to stay ; but rain, even in Syria, 
must pause sometimes, and at last a 
clear morning dawned. I left the 
hotel early, glad to be once more on 
the move. The train had already 
started on, and we followed over the 
hills and down into the Plain of 
Esdraelon. As we entered the plain 
we stopped and looked back. Not a 
cloud was left in the sky, and the 
air was very clear, bringing distant 
points unnaturally near. A strong, bracing wind kept 
the atmosphere from growing oppressive, and all nature 
seemed to share in the exhilaration that such a day, com- 
ing after a long spell of rain, is sure to bring with it. 
Behind us rose Mount Hermon, towering over the 
neighboring hills and covered from base to crown with 
glittering snow. The lowland rain had crystallized at 
that great height. Little clouds, pale pink and golden, 
hung about the mountain, and the white expanse was 
sharply defined against a background of deep blue sky. 

176 




SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



177 



Hermon had been lost to our sight for some days, and 
we hailed his reappearance, in this new and beautiful 
guise, with delight. 

We were brought down to things earthly before we 
had time to weary of the sight, by coming upon the 
train. 

The ground was muddy, the mire in many places 
lying so deep as to be dangerous, while here and there 
great cracks and fissures showed along the plain, as if 
an earthquake had passed by. The Jonah-like canteen- 
mule had chosen such a time and place to lie down and 
roll. As we rode up, the muleteers had just managed 
to get him free from the canteen-chest, which was firmly 
imbedded in the mud, and were standing about, discuss- 
ing the situation sadly and helplessly. David got them 
to work once more ; and at last the chest was raised 
from its miry resting-place. The men looked happier, 
and were lifting it to the mule's back, when, suddenly, 
the lid came off, and glass, china, tablecloths, and provi- 
sions fell in a crashing heap to the ground. I looked to 
see David lose his temper. An eminent clergyman has 
said that at one crisis or catastrophe in each man's life 
profanity is permissible. If this be true, David's time 
surely came at that moment. 

To my surprise the dragoman merely pointed to the 
wreck, and told the men to gather it together and come 
on as soon as they could ; then he rode on with me as 
though nothing had happened. Considering that more 
than a third of his crockery was broken, his tablecloths 
and napkins covered with mud, and his canteen lid un- 
hinged, this struck me as rather good breeding. 

As we left the scene of the disaster I noticed a dog 

N 



178 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



running beside us. David said he had followed us 
from Nazareth and would probably stay with us until 
we reached Jerusalem The dog regarded himself 
henceforth as a privileged member of the party, bark- 
ing at any strangers we chanced to meet, and issuing an 
" all-comers " challenge to every stray cur on the road. 

We kept to the plain all that morning. To our left 
we could see Mount Tabor rising like the back of a 
gigantic turtle from the level ground about it. Tabor 
was once believed to be the Mount of Transfiguration, 
but the tradition, like most others, is unfounded. It 
is not probable that Christ, leaving Csesarea Philippi, 
would have journeyed so far for such a purpose when 
many mountains lay nearer at hand, nor do we read of 
His visiting Mount Tabor at any time during His min- 
istry. Moreover, the summit of Tabor was at that time 
occupied by a Roman garrison. The place has, how- 
ever, other associations. From it came Barak and his 
ten thousand men, urged on by Deborah. He crossed 
the plain, passing perhaps the very spot where we were 
now standing, to engage with the man who for "twenty 
years had mightily oppressed Israel," and who now, on 
the opposite side of the valley, opposed him with a great 
army and "nine hundred chariots of iron." Through 
the narrow gorge between two mountains just beyond 
the scene of their battle, Sisera fled; and somewhere 
on the plateau above, the tent of Jael must have stood. 

u Sisera had had a long run before he reached Jael's 
tent," remarked David as he showed me these places. 
" And he needed rest. Jael was praised for killing 
him, but really it doesn't seem a very worthy act to 
murder a beaten man when he is 'fast asleep and 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



179 



weary ' ; especially since she herself had invited him to 
stop and rest." 

The ancients evidently had no such scruples, for Jael 
was blessed and her deed set forth in Deborah's song. 

Passing on we skirted a slope of the Hill Mizar, and 
saw the village of Nain, where the widow's son was 
brought back to life. The place was doubtless much 
the same in our Lord's time as it is to-day, neither 
better nor worse than a hundred other hill villages 
along the route. 

A short distance beyond Nain is Shunem, where I was 
shown a house said to be the same in which " a little 
chamber in the wall " was built for the Prophet Elisha. 
The house is now a square stone ruin, and is used as a 
guest-house for pilgrims. We saw a flashily dressed 
man breakfasting in the doorway, while a score of vil- 
lagers waited at a respectful distance until he should 
finish. This man was tax-collector for the district, 
which accounted for the respect shown him. 

The fields about Shunem are still used for farming 
as much as at the time when the Shunammite woman's 
son went out to watch the reapers and was sunstruck. 
Sunstroke is not uncommon in this shadeless plain. 

We traversed fields where men were guiding primitive 
plows drawn sometimes by a cow, sometimes by a camel, 
but oftenest by a bullock and a donkey yoked together. 
Other fellaheen came behind, sowing ; holding the grain 
in bags formed by gathering up the front of their white 
gowns. 

At noon we halted at the foot of a low hill that forms 
the site of Jezreel. On the top of this hill still stand 
the ruins of Ahab's Watch Tower ; the tower from 



180 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



which the warder saw " a company " and a fast driven 
chariot, " like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi, 
for he driveth furiously." 

On the stony green 
space before us once 
stood Naboth's vineyard. 
It is half covered now 
by a marshy pool, where 
we saw women wash- 
ing clothes and beating 
them against the rocks, 
or spreading them on 
the hillside to dry. 

After lunch we turned 
from our course to visit 
the fountain where Gid- 
eon's . three hundred 
chosen men "every one 
lapped water with his 
tongue as a dog lap- 
peth." The fountain 
springs from under a 
steep rock in the hill- 
side, and forms a pond 
about fifty yards across. 
The lower end of the 
pond is filled with rushes, 
and the center is only 
two or three feet deep, 
not " lapping as a dog lap- 




Fellah sowing Grain. 



I dismounted and drank, 



peth," however, — before going back. 

Before us in the plain the Midianites had encamped, 



SYEIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



181 



and over the rolling country to the right, Gideon had 
followed them, " faint, yet pursuing." 

He was a shrewd and systematic man, this conqueror 
of the Midianites. First, he required full and repeated 
proofs of the Lord's willingness to help him, before 
he stirred hand or foot in the venture ; afterward, as 
different cities refused him aid, he promised a separate 
punishment to each, and on his return kept his promises 
to the letter. From Gideon's Fountain Ave rode toward 
Jenin, where we were to encamp. In the middle of the 
afternoon we passed several large, stony hills, the near- 
est standing out, bleak and rugged, from the rest. 
This is Gilboa, and here it was that Saul, hemmed in 
on all sides by his enemies, made his last stand. A 
small valley lies between Gilboa and another hill to the 
north. On the side of this second hill is the village of 
Endor. Over the valley and up the mountain-side to the 
village went the old king secretly and at night (priests, 
visions, and even the magic stone having failed him), as 
a last resort, to seek counsel from a witch. Somewhere 
in that straggling clump of mud-huts he heard his doom 
pronounced from the lips of the long-dead Samuel. 
Not being gifted, like his successor, in the art of 
lamenting his fate in psalms, or writing metrical impre- 
cations on his enemies, the king simply went back to 
his army, and, though knowing well how the battle 
must end, fought bravely and " died, his three sons and 
his armor-bearer and all his men with him." 

He was in disgrace with Heaven, — perhaps deserv- 
edly, — but his end was surely more glorious than 
David's. There is something pitiable in the description 
of the Psalmist's last days ; his dying advice to Solomon 



182 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



to kill such enemies as he, the father, dared not put out 
of the way ; and his knowledge that his sons and cap- 
tains had not even waited for him to die before quarrel- 
ing over the crown. The less godly king who, having 
fought his last fight, fell on his sword to avoid capture 
and disgrace, chose at all events a more picturesque 
exit from the world. 

We raced with a rainstorm after leaving Gilboa, and 
reached our camp near Jenin barely two minutes ahead 
of it. We camped in a valley between two low hills. 
One of the two, almost bare of houses, was divided into 
fields by high cactus hedges. On the other stood the 
garrison town of Jenin. 

Through the blinding rain came two commissionaires 
from the barracks to examine my tezkere, or passport. 
This was the first time since leaving Damascus that it 
had been demanded, and David was indignant. 

The officer, who showed by his thoroughness that he 
was new to the business, read the description of me on 
the passport, staring at my face to make sure of each 
detail. One point greatly puzzled him. I was de- 
scribed on the tezhere as clean-shaven, while, as he com- 
plained to David, I had a full beard. The possibility 
that the beard might have grown since I left America 
never entered his mind. At length we half-appeased 
him and he took his leave, still looking back now and 
then suspiciously at the camp. 

Our new acquisition, the dog, earned his board by 
barking outside of my tent most of the night, and then 
growling at me when I came out in the morning. He 
evidently had high, if undiscriminating, ideas of his 
duty as guard. 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



183 



Two mounted soldiers followed us through the town, 
next day, and saw us well on our road. David thought 
that they were still in doubt as to our characters and 
intentions and wanted to make sure that we meant no 
harm to their city. Through all my travels this was 
the only place where I met with the least espionage or 
incivility from officials. 



CHAPTER XX. 



JENIN 



SAMARIA — NABLOUS. 




S we rode along the narrow river 
beyond Jenin we came upon an 
odd structure that at first sight 
looked like an Indian wigwam. 
A single vine had grown or had 
been twined into the exact shape 
of a small tent, the broad, close- 
growing leaves forming perfect 
shelter alike from sun and from 
rain. An opening had been 
trimmed out near the ground, for 
a doorway. 

" We see a good many of these 
vine-huts in Syria," said David as we went on. " They 
grow from a single root and make good houses for poor 
people, besides giving them fruit." 
" What sort of fruit ? " 

" Gourds. This was undoubtedly the kind of gourd 
that served Jonah for a house, and that was killed by a 
worm at the root. Most foreigners think that Jonah's 
gourd was a tree, and that he lived under the shade." 

We passed a large modern village and rode for an 
hour through the olive orchards that lie around it. The 
olives were ripe and bands of children with long poles 

184 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



185 



and baskets gathered them. The Syrian olives are not 
like those found in Italy and Greece, but are smaller 
and almost black. They are pickled in such a way as 
to make them retain their sharp, astringent taste, and 
though in this form they are an important item of native 
diet, few foreigners care for them. 

The olive-grove was deeply shaded, and we rode 
through it slowly. At last, coming once more to the 
open, we re-entered the bare Plain of Esdraelon near the 
spot where in 1799 Napoleon won his great victory over 
the Turks, routing, with twenty-one thousand French 
troops, the Turkish army of twenty-five thousand. 

This Plain of Esdraelon, desolate and wind-swept in 
winter, a mass of swaying wild flowers in spring, is, to 
me, one of the most interesting places in the East. 
Over it all the heroes and prophets of the Bible, and 
even the Master Himself traveled. It has been for ages 
the battle-ground of Syria. Egyptians and Phoenicians, 
Israelites, Philistines, Romans, Saracens, Mohammedans, 
and French all have fought here. Its villages and 
mountains are almost all associated with sacred inci- 
dents. 

We reached Dothan before noon. Here, at the foot 
of an olive and fig clad mountain stands a stone mill 
entered through a broad courtyard. When we dis- 
mounted, the yard was full of farmers waiting with 
donkeys and empty sacks for their meal to be ground, 
or else filling baskets and fastening them on the backs 
of kneeling camels. 

A group of bare-legged Bedouins, some with guns 
and spears, others with crooked knives stuck in their 
belts, sat on a low, stone wall. Their lean, Arab horses 



186 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



stood tethered in the shade of the mill. We went into 
the cool, dark building, drawn by the plash of water as 
it fell from the great wheel. 

" This well," said David, " is the one where we 
Christians believe Joseph was placed by his brethren. 
Joseph had been looking for them in the plain about 
Shechem (that is Nablous), when a man told him they 
had gone on to Dothan. The Bible says he found 
them at Dothan, and that they threw him into an empty 
pit that was there. This is the only pit or well of any 
size, hereabouts. Then, again, the route from Gilead 
to Egypt goes past here, and you may remember Joseph 
was sold to a company of Ishmaelites who were carry- 
ing spices from Gilead to the land of Egypt." 

I could see, through the broad doorway, the group of 
modern Ishmaelites lounging on the courtyard wall, 
and I fancied the same sight may have met Joseph's 
eyes as he was lifted to earth to be sold. 

The mill to-day is patronized by all the farmers of 
the surrounding country; the wheel is worked on the 
most primitive style, earthen jars being bound by a 
thong to the end of each spoke. These go down empty 
and come up full. 

One end of the building is used as a khan, and at 
this end, his swarthy face and red tarbusch whitened in 
streaks by meal, stood the miller himself, bargaining 
with the Sheik of the Bedouins. 

We lunched on the plain some miles beyond Dothan, 
and soon afterward came to rising ground. For two hours 
or more we rode upward over a steep and stony moun- 
tain, where in many places no path existed. The horses 
were often forced to step from boulder to boulder, or 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



187 



to walk between stones where each step must be care- 
fully chosen, and where the least stumble might mean 
a broken leg or neck. 

Massoud put aside all tricks and settled down to 
work, walking with ears forward, taking each step as 
carefully and daintily as if he were going through a 
species of dance. 

Halfway up the mountain we were forced to pass 
through the most malodorous and altogether revolting 
village I ever visited. I wrapped my kafieh over my 
face to shut out part of the sights and smells ; and even 
David pulled hard at his cigarette. The inhabitants, as 
filthy as their own village, ran out to stare at us, and, 
but for our riding-whips, would have stopped us for 
backsheesh. 

When we got beyond the place, and life became more 
bearable, David remarked : — 

" That is a horrible village to go through ; but there 
is no safe road around it. When I was traveling with 

Dr. " (naming the hero of the Mejdel es Shems and 

Galilee adventures) "we were going from Jerusalem 
to Nazareth, so we had to come down this mountain 
instead of climbing it. The Doctor is a heavy man, 
and the mountain is steep ; just before we reached the 
village he said he was afraid his horse would stumble 
with such a weight on his back, and he thought it would 
be better to go down the rest of the way on foot. The 
others dismounted and walked with him. By the time 
they got halfway through that village the ladies had 
nearly fainted. It was two or three days before they 
got over the effects of it." 

" How about the Doctor ? " 



188 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" Oh, he had a bad cold in his head, and he is very 
near-sighted, so he didn't mind it much." 

The mountain grew less rugged as we neared the top. 
We came to an orchard of misshapen fig-trees, with a 
flock of black goats feeding on the low branches. Our 
dog charged into the flock, scattering the goats to every 
side ; then started in pursuit of a kid who had run over 
the crest of the mountain. The shepherd howled at 
the dog and ran after him. We galloped our tired 
horses after the shepherd, and had reached the summit 
before the dog could be persuaded to come back. 
Then, for the first time, I stopped and looked about me. 

To the north Hermon once more appeared, white and 
gleaming above the brown foothills ; before and around 
us stretched the Plain of Esdraelon; and to the west, 
over a cluster of low irregular peaks, lay the blue Medi- 
terranean. I had not seen the ocean since the day I 
left Beirut, and now it seemed a link between me and 
the old world I had left so far behind. 

"Many travelers say that, sir," answered David when 
I mentioned this. " All Europeans that travel this way 
stop and gaze out to sea, as if they thought they could 
look across to the other side if they tried long enough. 
I suppose they feel that they are passing through a 
strange land and it is good to see something they have 
known before. I had a party of thirteen American 
ladies traveling with me once, and when we got to the 
top of this mountain I explained to them what each 
place they saw was, and they always said 'yes,' when- 
ever I asked if they saw the place I meant. I was sure 
they didn't really see half of the things, so I thought I 
would test them. I pointed far out to sea, and asked 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



189 



them if they saw that spot in the distance. They all 
said they did, and I asked them again — ' You are sure, 
ladies, you all see it ? ' They said they did, and asked 
what it was. 

"Well, ladies," I said, "that is New York!" 

Riding on, we came to the ancient site of Samaria, 
three-quarters of the way up a hill. At the top of 




Site of Ancient Samaria. 



this hill once stood Ahab's ivory palace, and in the 
plain beneath the Syrian army had encamped when 
Samaria was besieged. Down the road by which we 
climbed the hill, had crept the four lepers who, starved 
in Samaria, had resolved to throw themselves on the 
mercy of their enemies. Here and there on the hill- 
side I saw a bit of pillar or a broken sarcophagus 



190 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



cropping out from the ground, marking the burial- 
places of the great men of Samaria. Treasures of 
gold, silver, and jewels, to say nothing of myriads 
of curios, may still be hidden under the earth of this 
hillside. If such wealth does exist, as there is much 
reason to believe, it must continue to remain buried, 
for it is a dangerous thing to find treasure in Turkish 
countries, and no native will take so great a risk. 




Ruins of Market-Place of Ancient Samaria. 



We reached a plateau on which the market-place 
of Samaria was built. A long double line of gray 
columns, some broken, many still intact, stands to 
this day to mark the spot. Brambles, bushes, and 
rough brown grass cover the ground and, save for 
vultures circling far above, and a thin, mangy donkey 
looking for pasturage among the briars, I saw no signs 
of life. It was a veritable city of the dead. Yet in 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



191 



its glory, the rich metropolis, the pillared market- 
place, and, capping all, the great white palace of 
ivory, must have formed a prize well worth the end- 
less wars waged for its possession. 

We rode between the lines of columns, now and 
then turning aside to avoid some finely-carved frag- 
ment that lay in our path, and in a few minutes came 
to the modern town of Samaria — as it is now called, 
Sebaste. This is utterly different from the ancient 
city, and is quite uninteresting. Near it is the pool 
where Ahab's chariot is said to have been washed, and 
on the outskirts is a Crusader church — the Church of 
John the Baptist — now turned into a mosque. We 
saw some women baking bread in a public oven and 
others grinding corn, and I dismounted to watch them. 

A mud hut encloses the oven. The dough is laid 
on a layer of flat stones to be baked. The stones are 
covered with fuel, such as chaff and thorns, which is 
never allowed to go out, but is kept smouldering 
continuously night and day. Hence the Biblical met- 
aphor of chaff thrown into the everlasting or undying 
fire. 

Corn is ground between two flat mill-stones. A 
double handle is attached to the upper stone and is 
turned by two women. This mode of flour-making is 
also mentioned in the Bible : " Two women shall be 
grinding together." 

Going down into the plain, we entered the fairest 
valley in Syria — the valley of Shechem. It lies be- 
tween high hills whose lower slopes are covered with 
olive-trees and grain ; a brook runs through the mid- 
dle, and the farther end of the vista is closed by the 



192 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



blue ribbon of the Mediterranean. A hazy light from 
the setting sun rilled all the valley as we rode into it. 
A stone bridge spanned the brook, and green banks 
ran down on either side to the very edge of the 
water. Bridge, brook, and grass combined to form 
a picture that looked like a section of Devonshire 
scenery. Crossing the brook and riding along the 
highroad for a mile, we reached the town of Nablous 
just as darkness closed in. 




Street Loafers in Nablous. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



Joseph's tomb — Jacob's well — robber's valley 

— BETHEL. 



HE tents had become soaked through dur- 
ing our rainy night at Jenin, and by some 
accident — probably a misunderstanding 
between the canteen-mule and his burden 
— the train was some hours behind us. 
Night had already fallen, so David sent 
our horses on to the khan under Serkeese's 
charge, and took me to the house of the 
Protestant missionary at Nablous. 

The Mission House had once been a 
pasha's palace, and stood on high ground 
at the entrance to the town. The Reverend 
Mr. El Karry (a native Syrian educated in England) 
who superintended the mission, was an old friend of 
David's. He received us cordially and insisted on our 
o 193 




194 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



spending the night in his house. This I was glad enough 
to do, and I thoroughly enjoyed the change from wet 
tents to the large comfortable guest-room with a fire 
burning on the hearth. Dinner over, Mr. El Karry 
invited me to spend the evening with his family. He 
had married an Englishwoman, who, with her sister, 
helped him in his mission work. It was an incongruous 
yet pleasant experience in a country where for weeks I 
had seen none of my own race or language, to pass an 
hour or two in a middle-class "sitting-room," talking 
with two Englishwomen. There was a stove in the room 
stamped with the trade-mark of a New York firm, and 
before it slept a very Occidental-looking lap-dog and a cat. 

When I was about to say " good-night," Mr. El 
Karry observed, — 

" We always finish the evening with family prayers. 
Would you care to join us ? " 

I stayed willingly ; after prayers, a hymn was pro- 
posed. The missionary turned to me and asked, — 

" Do you sing ? " 

I replied that I did not. He asked the same question 
of David, who, though he has a really fine voice, was 
too polite to sing when I had said I could not, and 
therefore answered in the negative. 

Mr. El Karry looked reproachfully at us for a moment ; 
with something of triumph in his eye, turned over several 
pages of the hymn-book; then, glancing once more at his 
non-singing guests, read with due emphasis these lines : — 

" Let those refuse to sing 

Who never knew the Lord. 

But " — (with a look at his own family) 
" Children of the Heavenly King 

All join in sweet accord." 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



195 



Whether his choice of this hymn was intentional or 
merely chance, I do not know. I have read a similar 
story elsewhere, but I can vouch for the truth of my 
own experience. David and I felt quite like outcasts 
while the singing lasted. 

Nablous was even more beautiful at sunrise next 
morning than as we had seen it the previous day. 
Small wonder that the ancient conquerors of Palestine 
were reminded of their own country, and named the 
place " Neapolis," — whence springs the corruption, 
" Nablous." From the Mission House terrace we could 
see on one hand the green valley and hills, with the 
Mediterranean beyond; the mountain we had crossed 
on our way to Nablous wore a roseate tint from the 
rising sun ; and beneath us, with its white domes and 
minarets, lay the town itself. 

Two higher mountains stood, one on each side of the 
valley, a short distance to the east. These were Mount 
Ebal and Mount Gerizim. Here Joshua gathered the 
people of Israel, six tribes on each mountain. Curses 
were read, one by one, by priests from Mount Ebal ; 
and after each curse the whole host shouted "Amen ! " 
Blessings were then read from Mount Gerizim and again 
the people shouted, " Amen ! " The " Aniens " of that 
great multitude must have re-echoed for miles among 
the hills, and far out to sea. 

It is noticeable, that while the list of curses fills 
twelve verses of the Bible, the blessings are all num- 
bered in four. There has always been more scope for 
language in a curse than in a blessing. 

" Thou shalt put the blessing on Mount Gerizim and 
the curse on Mount Ebal." 



196 



SYBIA FBOM THE SADDLE. 



It is a meaningless, but none the less amusing, fact 
that while Mount Gerizim the blessed, is bare and rocky 
even unto to-day, Mount Ebal's heavily cursed slopes 
are verdant with crops and olive orchards. 

Saying " good-bye " to the missionary, we passed 
through Nablous and came to Joseph's tomb. This 
tomb is in a mausoleum close to a little mosque. No 
doubt can be raised as to the genuineness of the alleged 
resting-place of the Patriarch's bones, and the land 
about it is undoubtedly the " parcel of ground " bought 
by Jacob. Pillars at the head and foot of the tomb 
are topped by charred receptacles in which Jews have 
for ages burned ornaments, lace, etc., in memory of 
their Patriarch. 

Less than half a mile beyond is a large enclosure with 
a stone hedge at its entrance. In the enclosure is 
Jacob's Well. The well has been lately excavated and 
a flight of several steps with pillars at each side was 
found leading down to its mouth. The place is interest- 
ing solely from the fact that it was the scene of Christ's 
talk with the Samaritan woman. It was probably on 
these very steps that Our Lord, His disciples having gone 
to the city to buy meat, sat, when tired and thirsting, he 
asked a woman to give him drink. Shadowing them was 
Mount Gerizim, crowned with the great synagogue whose 
ruins are still standing; — the synagogue referred to in 
the words " Our fathers worshipped in this mountain." 

The well is dry much of the time, as are many water 
supplies in the neighborhood. This may account for 
the eagerness the native woman showed to taste of the 
magic water which would "spring up into everlasting 
life," and whose possessor would thirst no more. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



197 



The scenery about Jacob's well — hills, synagogue, and 
valley, even to the town behind — is, I imagine, almost 
exactly as Christ saw it. The broad plain we faced on 
leaving the well, was perhaps that over which He looked 
when He saw the fields " white already to the harvest." 

" This plain we are coming to now," said David, " is 
called the Wandering Field of Joseph. It was here 
that Joseph wandered about in search of his brethren 
until he was sent on to Dothan." 

We turned to the right on entering the plain, and 
rode southward. We had sent some of the luggage 
ahead, and had left the tents to follow at leisure ; for, 
being anxious to reach Jerusalem as soon as possible, 
we had made plans to ride faster than usual and to 
spend the night at a monastery. 

Early in the afternoon we passed Lebonah, a village 
at the base of a mountain. It was from this village 
that the women came into the plain to dance ; and 
from the gorge to the left, behind which stood the 
town vineyards, the Benjamites issued " and took them 
wives, according to their number, of them that danced, 
whom they caught." 

Toward sunset we came to a long, narrow defile with 
cliffs and steep hills on either side. The narrow path 
through the bottom is filled with stones, and at the 
sides grow straggling olive-trees, that catch the kafieh 
and tear the face of the rider. 

" This is the Robbers' Valley," said David. " Some 
years ago people hardly ever went through here without 
being stopped and robbed." 

" Are there any robbers here now ? " 

" Once in a while, but the government has put down 



198 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



most of them. It is getting dark, though, and there is 
no chance of galloping our horses if we should be at- 
tacked, so you would better have your pistol ready." 

We loosened our pistols in the holsters, and rode on ; 
while Serkeese, behind us, half drew the sword I had 
bought from the Bedouin, and tried to look fierce. I 
noticed he had stopped singing, and that once when his 
horse stumbled, he forgot to whoop at him. 

The sun had set, and the moon, rising over a ridge 
above us, gave the valley a spectral look, distorting 
and vivifying rocks, shadows, and branches. The scene 
reminded me of the Valley of Temptation in Sintram. 

I should enjoy describing here how a horde of dark- 
faced banditti rose from among the boulders and 
attacked us ; how we valiantly withstood them, and 
how successfully I emulated the noble examples set by 
heroes of Arab war-songs in defeating the whole tribe — 
but in reality nothing of the sort happened. So many 
travelers I meet recount to me wild adventures quorum 
magnae partes fuerunt, that I am half-ashamed — 
although more than half -glad — to admit that I was not 
once, during my trip, in any imminent danger. A man 
who rode along through the same valley a month 
earlier was fired on, and some time afterward a small 
party was " held up " and robbed ; but the robbers, 
if indeed any were near, treated us with utter indif- 
ference. 

The Robbers' Fountain, a picturesque spot, deriving 
its name from the former rulers of the neighborhood, is 
the only object of special interest in the valley. 

We emerged at last into the open hill-country. At 
the end of the ravine we passed the camp of a Latin 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



199 



priest who, with a fair parishioner (she, after the 
manner of fair and wealthy parishioners, paying the 
man of God's expenses on the trip), was making a tour 
of Palestine. We had missed the ubiquitous dog for 
some hours, and now found him installed as self- 
appointed guardian of this camp, whence he barked 
fiercely at us as we passed. 

Mountain riding, over precipitous Syrian hills by 
moonlight, is not unalloyed pleasure, as there is always 
a more than even chance that your horse will fall, or 
get his foot wedged between two rocks. We kept on, 
stumbling and feeling our way in the bright but decep- 
tive moonlight, for an hour or more. Then we came 
to a hill that stood by itself, rugged and lonely, innum- 
erable boulders showing dull gray under the moon. 

On this hill the wanderer, overtaken by darkness in 
his flight from his father's house, had thrown himself 
down to rest. Here, his head resting possibly on one 
of the very rocks over which our horses now stumbled, 
he had slept the heavy sleep of sorrow and fatigue. 
The moon may have shone on his face as it shone on 
the hill, now, and its unexplained influence perhaps 
caused the dream wherein he saw the " ladder set upon 
the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven. And 
behold the angels of God ascending and descending 
upon it." Stranger and more vivid dreams have been 
caused by sleeping in the moonlight since the Patriarch's 
night in the wilderness. 

" This is Bethel," said David ; " the town beyond 
still goes by that name among many people, though 
the modern name is Luz. It has about three hundred 
inhabitants. There are fine ruins near here that are 



200 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



not very well known; if it were daylight we might 
stop and see them." 

I once read in a religious paper a description of 
Jacob's flight. The author laid much stress on the 
self-abasement and humility that led the wanderer to 
choose a stone for his pillow. In reality, I fancy Jacob 
would have been puzzled to find, at Bethel or anywhere 
in its vicinity, three feet of ground where he could lie 
without resting on a stone. 

We watered our horses near by at a well-known 
Fountain of the Sparrows. The fountain is hollowed 
out of the rock and forms a nightly resting-place for 
numbers of birds. These flew out as we drew near, 
and three of them — fluffy little owls as large as a man's 
fist — settled down on the arch above us, hooting plain- 
tively at being disturbed. Riding on, past hillside 
tombs and a few lonely huts, we reached our destina- 
tion — Ramulah (or Ramah in Benjamin) — about nine 
o'clock in the evening. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



NIGHT IN A MONASTERY — BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF 

JERUSALEM. 

AMULAH is a small town, contain- 
ing, besides the regular native houses, 
a nunnery, a Protestant school man- 
aged by an American Quakeress, and 
a Latin monastery. 

We stopped at the monastery, 
where Imbarak and John soon joined 
us. David took me down a long 
paved and vaulted corridor, then up 
a flight of stone steps, past several 
gowned and cowled brothers, to the 
room of the Father Superior. Here 
we found four or five monks, two 
of whom were guests like ourselves. The Superior, a 
plump little man, whose face was adorned with a curly 
black beard, invited me to sit with him while David 
went to make preparations for my dinner. 

I sat on the sofa beside one of the guests, — a tall 
lean monk with humorous eyes and mouth, and a 
shrewd face deeply furrowed, as if by care or illness. 
Both he and the Superior spoke good French. As I sat 
down he offered me snuff from a flat horn box with a 
crucifix engraved on it, and accepted one of my ciga- 

201 




202 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



rettes in return. I have more than once had occasion 
to be glad that I long ago learned how to take snuff, 
for, while the habit is fortunately obsolete among west- 
erners, it is still common in the Orient. 

After this exchange of commodities, which is perhaps 
the most auspicious way of opening an acquaintance, 
the lean brother asked me if I had been to Italy ; and, 
delighted to hear that I had, began a long eulogy on 
the beauty and historic interest of his own birthplace, 
Turin, — a decidedly prosaic place to my mind, — which, 
he declared, combined the advantages of Rome and Ven- 
ice without the malaria of the one and the dampness of 
the other. 

He was interrupted by the Superior, who asked me 
abruptly what my religion and country might be. I 
told him, and he asked whether there were more Catho- 
lics or Protestants in America. I said most of our Ital- 
ian, French, and Irish citizens were Romanists ; upon 
which he exclaimed in triumph, — 

" And I am told that these foreigners make up almost 
your whole population ! Therefore America is, without 
question, of the true Faith." 

He turned to a pale young brother who sat in the 
corner and translated the news to him in Arabic. The 
young monk raised his eyes to the ceiling in holy joy, 
and the Superior was about to renew the talk when 
he was interrupted by the Italian brother, who leaned 
toward me with a wink, and said in English, — 

" Yes ? Good morning ! If you please ! Damn ! " 

I was surprised to hear this string of expressions in 
my own tongue, and still more so at hearing the pleas- 
antly uttered curse. After looking about in pride at 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



203 



his own linguistic power, and noting the effect on the 
other brethren, the holy man relapsed into French and 
said complacently, — 

" I have met Englishmen and Americans before, and, 
as you observe, I have learned a little of their language. 
What I just said is one of your forms of greeting, is it 
not?" 

I would not undeceive him, but contented myself with 
complimenting his accent. 

The Superior asked how far I had traveled that day. 
I answered that I had come from Nablous ; and then 
spoke of the beauty of the place. The Superior flared 
up instantly and cried, — 

" How can you, a Christian, find beauty in such a 
town ? Do you not know that nearly every man in 
Nablous is a Mohammedan?" 

This speech reminded me of a man who once came up 
and spoke to me while I was looking at a Crusader 
church that was in process of changing into a mosque. 

"See," he had said, "how we have broken down your 
place of worship and raised our own dome over the high 
altar itself." 

I wished at this moment that my Moslem acquaint- 
ance and the pious Father could have been closeted to- 
gether for an hour, to discuss religion. The Kilkenny 
cats of Hibernian memory would sink into deserved 
insignificance by comparison. 

I sat for some time, a delighted guest, dividing my 
attention between the religious remarks of the Supe- 
rior and the slightly irreligious anecdotes of the Ital- 
ian brother ; agreeing with one, and laughing with the 
other. The wind blew a regular hurricane against the 



204 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



stone walls outside ; while within, a great open fire 
roared up the chimney, nickering on the brown-robed 
forms of the monks and on the giant crucifix on the 
opposite wall, and filling the room with a heat which, 
if too strong, was at least a welcome change from the 
cold ride I had so lately taken. 

I was quite sorry when the shadowy Imbarak ap- 
peared with the announcement that dinner was served. 

It was the evening of my birthday, and David, hav- 
ing somehow discovered the fact, had ransacked the 
place for materials " to give me," as he expressed it, 
"such a dinner as should make me glad I had lived 
until this birthday." He also told me that he had 
threatened John with dire penalties in case I was not 
pleased with the repast. 

" I have read that they have birthday dinners in 
America, sir," he ended, " and I thought perhaps this 
would make yow feel a little as if you were at home." 

I had not eaten since noon, and as it was now late 
in the evening I was nearly famished, so I did ample 
justice to the spread, not finishing until midnight. I 
do not remember all the menu or the order in which 
things came. I know there were soup, fish, chicken, 
game, a vol au vent, several native dishes, a ragout, 
then — crowning glory — an English plum pudding, 
ablaze with lighted brandy ; " Turkish delight," crystal- 
lized citron, two or three kinds of wine, and, last of all, 
the regulation black coffee and cigarettes. 

Such a meal, on the Gargantuan style in which I 
helped myself to everything, would at any other time 
have caused many and awful visions to disturb my rest; 
but I found no unpleasant effects this night, and, on 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



205 



retiring to the comfortable room the Superior had given 
me, enjoyed, despite my excesses in the eating line, the 
slumber usually reserved for the just. 

At dawn the next morning David knocked at my 
door. 

"Will you look out of your window, sir?" he called. 
44 Not the one toward the sea, but the other. There has 
been a funeral, and the mourners are coming back." 

44 This is the most mortuary country I ever struck," 
I growled, in disgust at being wakened so early. 44 One 
can't travel a mile without running up against a funeral 
or a house of mourning, or something of the sort." 

The view from the window repaid me for my trouble 
in rising. A sheet of fog lay over the sea, and white 
mists, tinged here and there to amber, clung about the 
nearer hilltops. The wind had died down in the 
night, and was replaced by a still cold that chilled 
me through. 

Fifty paces from my window was a graveyard. About 
one of the graves stood a group of peasants, while half 
a dozen more were leaving the place, groaning perfunc- 
torily from time to time. The mourners dropped off, 
one by one, while we watched, and at last the group 
diminished to four women, — the wife of the deceased 
and three of her friends. A spirited scene took place 
among the quartet, the wife declaring she would lie 
on her husband's grave until she too was dead, and 
her friends trying by all arts to persuade her to come 
away with them. 

44 Does she mean what she says, about lying on her 
husband's grave?" I asked, interested in this hint at 
suttee customs. 



206 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



" It is customary for widows to say that, sir," answered 
the dragoman. 

The three friends, after long persuasion and a little 
physical force, succeeded in getting the widow away, 
and she passed under our window on the road home. 
When she was directly beneath I noticed for the first 
time that her head was bleeding, and that in each hand 
she held a thick braid of her own hair. I had heard of 
the Eastern custom of tearing out the hair from grief, 
but had always thought it figurative. 

Turning back into the room, I found the Superior at 
my elbow, wishing me good morning and asking how 
I had slept. 

He had spoken the night before of the difficulty of 
finding instructive reading in this lonely town ; so, 
when I said " good-bye " I gave him my copy of Mur- 
ger's Vie de Boheme. This is one of the most delightful 
books of my acquaintance and is my prime favorite, 
but — had I thought a moment — is scarcely a volume 
that I should recommend for the study of a brotherhood 
of holy men. 

The Italian brother, who came in just as I was giving 
the book, praised it highly and said it was most instruc- 
tive reading. I am morally certain that he had never 
seen it or even heard of it before, but that he merely 
wished to show me he was familiar with French litera- 
ture ; however, his praise decided the Superior, who ac- 
cepted the gift with many thanks, and announced that 
he expected to begin reading it that very morning. 

Whether he ever read Murger's masterpiece to the 
end, I cannot say. That, after reading it, he put it in 
the monastery library for the edification of his col- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



207 



leagues is more than doubtful. In any case it may 
have given recreation and one or two broader ideas to 
his intolerant ascetic mind. If it did, I surely deserve 
a vote of thanks from the brethren. I have often won- 
dered as to the book's fate. 

The morning was still very cold when we set out. 
We passed Mizpeh, where all Israel once gathered by 
Samuel's orders, for formal repentance ; then, on by a 
Roman khan that was once the headquarters of a band 
of robbers ; and at length began to climb Mount Scopus, 
the highest point in Judea. As we rode higher the cold 
became more intense. The air was little colder, I sup- 
pose, than on a late autumn morning at home ; but hav- 
ing become used to the Syrian heat, I felt the change 
far more keenly. At the summit of Scopus we looked 
down on the city beyond. We saw a town, small in ex- 
panse, but so crowded with houses that in many places 
it overflowed its walls, and spread in large settlements 
without the gates. It lay among low hills, and was itself 
built on a steep hill that, beyond the walls, ran down on 
the east to a dried brook. At the other side of this 
brook rose a second and higher mountain, whose gray 
slopes were partly covered with groves of olive, and 
whose summit was capped by a tall white tower. Out- 
side the northern gate, — between us and the city, — 
was an oddly shaped little hill whose fresh verdure, con- 
trasted with the dull-hued land about it, reminded me 
at once of the old lines, — 

" There is a green hill far away, 
Without a city wall." 

The hill was " the place Golgotha, which is, being in- 



208 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



terpreted, the place of a skull." The crowded, dingy- 
looking town beyond it was " Jerusalem, the city of the 
great King," and the tower-capped mountain to the east, 
separated from Jerusalem by the Brook Kedron, was the 
Mount of Olives. 

At the foot of Olivet I saw an enclosed garden ; here 
is the generally accepted site of Gethsemane. On the 
other side of the mountain I could see a small part of 
the village of Bethany. 

We cantered our horses down the rough slope of 
Scopus into the plain beneath, toward Jerusalem and 
civilization. A short ride brought us to the Jaffa gate. 
Here, catching sight of some passing tourists, I realized 
for the first time that my clothes were torn by briars, 
rain-soaked and stained with mud, that my face was 
tanned like a native's, and my beard was long and un- 
trimmed ; also that a kafieh is perhaps not the most 
natural head-dress for an American to wear. In this 
guise, however, I was forced to ride into the Holy City, 
— hoping devoutly that any passers-by would be chari- 
table enough to mistake me for nothing worse than an 
Arab tramp, — and came to the New Grand Hotel, 
which was henceforth to be my headquarters, and 
where my luggage containing more presentable clothes 
awaited me. 




Jaffa Gate: Entrance to Jerusalem. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



JERUSALEM CRANKS — JEWISH WAILING PLACE — 
HOLY CITY BY MOONLIGHT. 



SHOULD like, were such a thing 
possible in an account of Palestine, 
to avoid writing of Jerusalem. 

The Holy City is to a Bible stu- 
dent the most interesting place on 
earth, and a separate volume would 
be required if I should attempt to 
enter fully into all descriptions and 
impressions. 

Thomson, Geikie, Merrill, and a 
number of lesser lights, have written 
on the subject with far deeper knowl- 
edge than I possess ; and as every 
reader who is at all interested in such things has no 
doubt already studied one or more of these writers, I 
shall content myself with simply touching here and 
there on such points as seemed most interesting to me, 
an unlearned outsider. 

In the first place, Jerusalem is the Mecca of all sorts 
and conditions of cranks. When a man (or more often a 
woman) starts to ride some religious hobby, that hobby's 
head is almost invariably turned toward Jerusalem. 
Here we find the crank who wishes to buy Calvary 

211 




212 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



and build a theological seminary there ; here, the crank 
who, newly converted to Romanism, rushes to the Holy 
City for evidences of early Christianity, and thereby 
earns from the ungodly the title of "Saint Chaser"; 
here, again, are the innumerable Hebrew cranks who 
believe from certain signs that the coming of their Mes- 
siah is at hand, and have journeyed to Jerusalem to 
await the event, living in the interim a hand-to-mouth 
existence in a collection of shanties and " lean-tos " 
known, because of the materials of which it is built, as 
the " Box Colony." 

Another band of cranks have followed a woman 
who claims to be their prophetess, and live together 
in Jerusalem as a free-love community, believing that 
none of them shall see death until Christ comes. The 
fact that several of the band have died during the past 
few years does not seem to weaken their faith. 

I could go on enumerating the noble army of cranks 
gathered here for pages if necessary. 

To a casual looker-on there is something revolting, 
as well as ridiculous, in the knowledge that the life 
and promises of Our Lord have become so perverted 
by fanatics as to make our Great Religion the laugh- 
ing-stock of Moslems and atheists throughout the 
East. 

The least objectionable crank I met in Jerusalem 
was an old Yankee farmer with a broad New England 
accent. He has bought a farm on the outskirts of the 
city and works it on true New Hampshire principles, 
with the idea that he can make at least his own share 
of Palestine fulfill Scriptural prophecy and " blossom 
like the rose." Up to the time of writing, the rose 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



213 



has not come into bloom, but the Yankee is still 
hopeful. 

Cranks, as well as other tourists, have poured in 
more rapidly of late, since the Jerusalem and Jaffa 
railway has brought the " Cranks' Mecca " within three 
hours' journey of the sea-coast. Isaiah prophesied that 
men should come to Jerusalem " out of all nations, 
upon horses, in chariots, and in litters, and upon mules, 
and upon swift beasts." The expression "swift beasts," 
says one commentator, may be also translated from the 
original Hebrew as "swaying furnaces." This term, if 
the translation be true, is not a bad definition of 
locomotive. 

The New Grand Hotel, where I stopped, is by all 
odds the best caravanserai in Syria. The manager, 
M. Gelat, has made a study of European hotels, and 
modeled his own after them. 

Just across the street from the Grand is the Tower 
of David, built of dark-gray stone, with a turret that 
rises above the main building. This is mentioned in 
Solomon's Song as " the tower of David, builded for 
an armory, whereon hang a thousand bucklers, all 
shields of mighty men." It is now used as barracks 
for the Turkish garrison, as is the traditional house 
of Pilate. 

We reached Jerusalem on Friday noon, and after 
luncheon David took me down to the foundation-wall 
of the temple near Robinson's Arch, — to the " Jews' 
Wailing Place." A horde of Jews, old men and women 
for the most part, gather here every Friday afternoon 
to read passages of Scripture and to bemoan the fall 
of their nation. 



214 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



When, after winding down through dirty alleys and 
byways, we reached the spot, we found a number of the 
chosen people already on the ground. Many stood 




Jews' Wailing Place. 



groaning or weeping in a line before the high wall. Here 
and there groups had formed surrounding a man who 
read in a sing-song, whining tone a psalm or prophecy, 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



215 



his audience repeating part of the text after him 
amid sympathetic lamentations. Two or three isolated 
mourners sat on the stone pavement, some reading in 
silence, others rocking back and forth in a perfect 
abandon of woe. The tears were genuine and, as a 
rule, copious. I envied the wailers their ability to go 
about bargaining, cheating, and making merry all the 
week, and then, on the seventh afternoon, to lay off 
all earthly matters and weep piteously for hours at 
a time. I suppose, though, when one gets well into 
the habit, it is quite easy. 

Nails and spikes of all sizes, shapes, and ages were 
stuck into the interstices of the wall. 

" That means, sir," explained David, " that each man 
who drives a nail there wishes that he may have even 
so small a place in the kingdom of Heaven as his nail 
takes up in this wall." 

As he spoke I remembered an old proverb of the 
East which seemed more in accordance with the He- 
braic character than was the modest wish repeated by 
David, as well as a more probable reason for the pres- 
ence of the nails : " As a nail sticketh between the 
joinings of the stones, so doth sin stick close between 
buying and selling." 

" How long have they kept up this sort of thing?" 
I asked, pointing to the line of mumbling and sobbing 
devotees. 

"For ages, sir. They chose this place for their 
wailing because it is near their former temple. None 
of them will enter the grounds of the Mosque of 
Omar (that is built on the site of the Temple, you 
know), for fear they may chance to tread on the 



216 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Holy of Holies. Besides, to go there would remind 
them of all they have lost." 

This refusal on the part of a conquered race to be 
reminded of their departed glory, and their fear of com- 
mitting sacrilege by some unconscious step upon hal- 
lowed ground, struck me at first as rather poetic ; so I 
looked more respectfully at the mourners. 

" So they never go there, you say ? " 

" Well, never unless they are paid to do some sort of 
work inside the grounds, such as to repair the walls or 
part of the mosque. They go there in such cases as 
that, of course, for they are well paid." 

David said this without the least idea of irony, and 
his statement, as I learned later on, was perfectly cor- 
rect. When the romance and piety of the ancient Sem- 
ite run counter to the money-love of the modern Jew, 
sentiment goes to the wall. 

We left the place shortly afterward. As I passed by 
again on my way to the hotel I saw the line still stand- 
ing as before ; their long dirty coats flapping about their 
ankles, and the uncut side-locks of hair worn by most 
of them hanging disheveled and limp. 

I recognized several of these disconsolate beings 
next day in the ghetto, changing money from wire- 
covered trays filled with coins, or selling merchandise ; 
none looked worse for their melancholy task of the 
previous afternoon. 

On the road home from the Wailing Place, David 
stopped and pointed to a stone that formed part of an 
alley wall. 

" Do you see that stone with a hollow place something 
like an open mouth in the middle of it, sir ? " he asked. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



217 



" Well, a number of fanatics — the people you call 
'cranks' — have named it, 'The Stone That Would 
Have Cried Out.' You remember the verse — ' If these 
should hold their peace the stones would immediately 
cry out.' That stone with the mouth, they say, is one 
of those mentioned in the text." 

The foregoing tradition is worthy of having come 
from the brain of the curio collector who claimed to 
have found u a piece of marble from the halls where the 
Bohemian girl dreamt she dwelt." 

The new United States Consul to Jerusalem, a young 
western clergyman, named Wallace, had just arrived 
from America and was stopping at the Grand. Apart 
from his being a decidedly good fellow I found him 
interesting as a contrast to the usual run of American 
officials abroad ; men who, " dressed in a brief author- 
ity," try to impress that authority and their own dignity 
upon all about them. 

More by his own nature, I fancy, than from his new- 
ness to foreign service, the lately arrived consul had 
none of these interesting traits. 

He and I took a long walk the evening after I reached 
the city, and as we were both new-comers, we were forced 
to guess our way. We walked out through the Damas- 
cus gate to Calvary, then down through the valley and 
up the Mount of Olives on the other side. On the 
mountain-side, not far from the top, we came on one of 
the divers spots where our Lord is said to have stood 
when he wept over the city. 

There is no proof or probability that this is the true 
place where Jesus wept ; it is not the point from which 
J erusalem may first be seen, nor is it on the road from 



218 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Bethany. Hence, the tradition is generally accepted, 
and a marble slab on which we could read in the clear 
moonlight a Latin inscription to that effect has been let 
into an adjacent wall. 

We climbed to the very summit of the mountain and 
then looked back at the city. Jerusalem, as it lay under 
the flood of southern moonlight, seemed to take on a 
shadow of its old-time beauty. Palm and cypress trees 
rose darkly here and there ; while the high walls and 
the open space surrounding the great black-domed 
mosque where once stood the Temple, had perhaps the 
same look to us as to some moonlight observer thou- 
sands of years ago. "The Beautiful Gate of the Tem- 
ple," facing us, shone brightly as though still covered 
with gold, and for the time we forgot that it is now 
nothing but an unshapely mass of yellow stone and 
plaster. 

I have never since seen the Holy City as it appeared 
that night. The departed glory for the moment re- 
turned and rested over all. 

Between us and the walls lay a square of ground that, 
even in the moonlight, was dark and sombre. Thus it 
may have looked to the Master on the night He prayed 
there alone, and to the three drowsy peasants, who, 
unable to watch for one short hour, slept without the 
garden walls, only awaking in time to fly from the 
soldiers. 

Our eyes, leaving this gloomy enclosure, wandered 
once more over the gleaming roofs of the city and 
stopped at the dark, skull-shaped hill that arose on the 
other side. Garden and hillock stood out like blots on 
the white, moonlit landscape. Jerusalem has been 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



221 



sacked again and again, burned, rebuilt and ruled by 
men of alien faiths, until nearly every feature of the 
city is so changed and degraded that only at night is it 
fair to look upon ; but Calvary and Gethsemane have 
been overlooked by all invaders. Whatever distortions 
they have met, or will meet, have been and always will 
be at the hands of Christians. 

" Night is the only time to see these things properly," 
said Mr. Wallace as we started for home. " In the day- 
time one is confronted with such a maze of facts, tradi- 
tions, present realities, and lepers, that every sacred 
association is lost, and we look on it all as on some 
ordinary scene from history." 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



MOSQUE OF OMAR — CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPUL- 
CHRE — THE NEW CALVARY — SOLOMON'S QUARRIES. 

HE south-east corner of Jerusalem 
is taken up by the grounds of the 
Mosque of Omar. Here stood 
Solomon's Temple, and afterward 
that of Herod. When Mohammed 
conquered Syria, the place was 
changed into a mosque. Permis- 
sion was given the native Chris- 
tians to keep for themselves either 
the Temple site or the Church of 
the Holy Sepulchre. These Chris- 
tians, believing the latter place to 
be the true Calvary, chose it in 
preference to the far more sacred spot on which stood the 
Rock of Moriah and the ruins of both the Jewish Temples. 

The outer courts of the Temple, the Court of the 
Gentiles and the Court of Women, are still shown, as 
is the Judgment Seat — a low dome-covered pavilion 
open on all sides and supported by pillars — from which 
Solomon made his famous decision in the case of the two 
mothers and the child. The inner court, containing 
the mosque and the Judgment Seat, is entered from a 
broad flight of steps at whose top stands a tall, carved 

222 




SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



223 



pulpit. From this puipit, Omar, when tired of whole- 
sale butchery, was wont to exhort the faithful. 

The mosque itself is a polygonal building with 
gaudily tiled walls, ornamented pillars, and a huge black 
dome capped by a gilt crescent. It covers the Rock of 
Moriah on which Abraham was about to offer up his son 
when prevented by the Lord. Inside the mosque a 
cool twilight prevails, through which glisten the metals 
and bright fixtures on the walls. In the center, sur- 
rounded by a railing, lies the great gray rock. Tradi- 
tion says that when Mohammed went to Heaven, the 
rock wished to rise with him, but was held back b}^ the 
hand of the Angel Gabriel. The imprint of a hand in 
the rock as large as the average man's body, is pointed 
out as the mark made by the archangel. 

Be3 T ond the mosque, in a crypt, are the so-called 
Stables of Solomon ; these were also used by the Cru- 
saders. 

A Crusader chapel stands near the pulpit of Omar, 
and still bears signs of the builder's work. At one end 
of it is a curiously fashioned pulpit in which, with 
other designs, a Cross is cleverly inlaid. This cross, 
except in a certain light, is quite invisible ; and has of 
course never been seen by the present owners of the 
chapel. If the presence of the holy Symbol should 
become known, the pulpit would undoubtedly be torn 
down. Whenever it has been found in places where 
Moslems wished to worship, it has been destroyed. In 
the Mosque of St. Sofia at Constantinople the destruction 
has been carried on to a wholesale extent. But there 
the fishes — emblems, like the cross, of Christianity — 
carved on the walls have been permitted to remain, as the 



224 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Moslems did not understand their significance. It is 
odd, however, that in the Chapel of the Mosque of Omar, 
the central point of Mohammedan worship, this one 
Cross has been allowed to stand for centuries unseen, 
but ever present, sole memento of a supplanted religion. 

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre was not far from 
my hotel. I found the courtyard, opening on the narrow, 
steep street, filled with beggars, guides, devotees, and 
peddlers of relics and sacred emblems. The church 
itself is very old, and from the outside is unsightly. 
Just within the door a guard of Turkish soldiers is 
stationed to preserve order. I have heard many unjust 
criticisms on the so-called tyranny exercised by the 
ruling nation in making its power felt even in the wor- 
shiping-place of another faith. This " tyranny " is most 
necessary. But for the guard of law and order, many 
fights would occur in the church. The Greek, Latin, and 
Protestant Christians are always at swords' points with 
each other, and more than once before the Holy Sepulchre 
itself has blood been shed between these rival sects. On 
religious fete days, Christians of every denomination in 
Jerusalem rise to a pitch of religious madness, and march, 
shrieking themselves hoarse, to this church. When 
members of two different sects chance to meet, while 
under the influence of this ecstasy, the followers of the 
true Christ must often be forcibly separated by the 
Moslem soldiery. Small wonder, then, that our Moham- 
medan brethren laugh at our religion, calling us " idola- 
ters " and " pagans." 

Near the entrance to the church is a slab said to be 
that on which our Lord's body lay before burial. Hard 
by is the place where the women stood. Passing on we 




Entrance of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. 



! 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



227 



enter a great, circular space, the dome of which is upheld 
by eighteen alabaster pillars. In the center of this, 
ablaze with lights, stands the little chapel of the Holy 
Sepulchre. The exterior is disfigured by poor pictures 
and artificial flowers. Inside are two rooms ; one is 
where the angels stood when Christ arose ; the other 
is the sepulchre itself. 

In the wall of the former of the two is a hole in which, 
on the Greek Easter, holy fire is seen by throngs of 
believers. It is pitiable that so cheap and old a trick 
as this appearance of holy fire can still impose on nine- 
teenth century mortals. True, the believers are mainly 
Russian peasants, — a type probably more bovine and less 
human than any other in existence — but even with them 
the deception seems too palpable not to be detected. 

The ceremony in which the fire is seen is something 
like this : — A crowd that would fill double the space 
is jammed into the rotunda outside the Chapel of the 
Holy Sepulchre. At the appointed time a torch is 
passed through the hole from within by a priest who 
claims that it has just been lighted by fire from Heaven. 
Priests outside seize the torch, and immediately thou- 
sands of painted candles are thrust forward to be lighted 
in turn from this heaven-lit flambeau. Then as the 
lights are passed along, the whole mob bursts into 
ecstatic yells, praising Christ, the Patriarchs, the Sul- 
tan, and any one else that comes to mind. Meanwhile, 
the priests and their guards fight a passage out of the 
mass ; and the holy fire is given to a horseman in wait- 
ing at the gate, who gallops with it to Bethlehem, where 
it is used for lighting candles in the Grotto of the 
Nativity. 



228 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



A wonderfully graphic account of the ceremony may 
be found in Dean Stanley's book, Sinai and Palestine. 

The Sepulchre Room of the chapel is entered through 
an opening so low as to force the incomer to stoop 
almost on his hands and knees. The room is lined with 
shining marble ; forty-three colored lights from gold 
and silver lamps illumine it. The Tomb is at one side 
of the room, the top serving as an altar. Near it is a 
small column, said by many " believers " to be the center 
of the world. This idea arises from Ezekiel's text: 
" This is Jerusalem. I have set it in the midst of 
nations and countries that are round about her." 

Custom demands that, in leaving the room, visitors 
walk out backward as from the presence of royalty, 
keeping their faces to the Tomb. 

The seat from which the Empress Helena saw the 
three crosses unearthed, Helena's chapel, the three 
chapels said to be built on the site of Calvary, the cleft 
in the rock supposed to go down to the middle of the 
earth rent at the time of the Crucifixion, and many 
other highly interesting places, are shown in the vicin- 
ity of the Holy Sepulchre. The scene of Abraham's 
sacrifice of Isaac, the grave of Adam, the tombs of 
Joseph and Nicodemus, as well as that of Godfrey de 
Bouillon, — are also grouped under this one roof, with 
a beautiful economy of space that does infinite credit to 
the founders of the gigantic hoax known as the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre. From an aesthetic standpoint 
the place is a success. The gems and precious metals, 
the alabaster columns, the myriad colored lights in jew- 
eled lamps, the tall marble candlesticks, and the mag- 
nificent size of the building, — all go to form a beauti- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



229 



ful and impressive spectacle. Looked at from a reli- 
gious point of view and with the idea that God is to be 
worshiped in spirit only, the church leaves much to 
be desired. Christians who go there — poor people, 
many of them, who have never before seen or heard 
of such richness — are often so carried away by the sight, 
and by the numerous legends of the place, that they 
reach the pitch of religious frenzy to which I have al- 
luded, and well deserve the contempt poured on them 
by the more rational Mohammedans. 

"Is there any reason to believe that this was the 
scene of the Crucifixion ? " I asked David as we went 
out ; " I mean beyond the fact of Helena's dream ? " 

" None, sir. It is all based on the dream of one 
woman, and the finding of three crosses underground 
here. Thousands of people were crucified at Jerusalem 
by Titus, so it isn't strange that three, or even a dozen, 
crosses should have been dug up. We know, too, that 
Christ suffered without the gates ; whereas this place is 
well within the walls, and alwaj^s was. Shall we go 
and have another look at the real Golgotha ? " 

I glanced back at the polished columns and the blaze 
of lights, and went on with him. 

" It will be a change at least, sir, from all that lot of 
candles and graves of Patriarchs," remarked the drago- 
man, as we picked our way through the crowd in the 
courtyard. 

Passing through a long street lined with booths and 
bazars, we came to the Damascus Gate, at the northern 
end of the city. A furlong farther on was the low, 
round-backed hill we had seen from Scopus. 

The hill is now a Moslem burying-ground, but was 



230 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



used in olden times as a place of execution. Near by 
is a Dominican convent that marks the site of Stephen's 
stoning. After it was proved that the Church of the 
Holy Sepulchre was not the true site of Calvary, and 
when the ancient boundaries of Jerusalem were ascer- 
tained, effort was made to fix on some hill without the 
gates where the Crucifixion could have taken place. 
To the south and east there is almost a sheer drop from 
the city into the valley below ; so, at last, by a long 
and clear chain of argument that has before now become 
familiar to all students of archseology, this hill to the 
north of Jerusalem, and a tomb in its side, have been 
identified as the place of execution and the sepulchre 
of Our Lord. This un templed hill with its gray riven 
rocks and uncared-for grass, and the plain hillside tomb 
in whose now empty central space lay the body of the 
man Jesus, before the God arose — form striking con- 
trasts to the gorgeous sepulchres and shrines that adorn 
the church within the walls. 

The Catholics, Latin and Greek, frown alike on this 
new Calvary ; for, should it once be accepted by the 
world as the true Golgotha, what would become of 
their Church of the Holy Sepulchre ? and who would 
pay for new candles and gemmed lamps ? 

Near the Damascus Gate is the entrance to the old 
quarries, whence came the stone for the Temple and the 
walls. The quarries, unused nowadays, reach far under 
the city, sloping downward, like the passage to the Styx 
in Italy. Many twists and by-paths render them dan- 
gerous to explore without the help of trained guides. 

An arched roof, grimed with the smoke of centuries, 
overhangs these quarries, and on the dripping walls 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



231 



pick-marks may be seen. All about the ground blocks 
of stone, still bearing scratches of the lever, lie where 
Jewish and Roman workmen left them ; while scattered 
at intervals are lumps of stone, soft as chalk and white 
and sparkling like snow. 

A European came down here to explore, some years 
ago, at a time when foreigners were few and often ill- 
treated. He entered the quarry-mouth alone, and was 
never seen again. Whether he wandered too far to find 
his way back and starved to death, or whether some 
band of robbers living underground made away with 
him, no one knows. His body was never found. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



MOUNT OF OLIVES — GETHSEMANE BETHANY — AT 

SUNSET. 

O reach the Mount of Olives and Geth- 
semane from Jerusalem one must go 
down the steep road to the right of the 
Damascus Gate into the valley and 
across the dried Brook Kedron. The 
bit of road crossing the narrow valley 
is, during business (i.e. tourist) hours 
alive with beggars of all sorts. Crip- 
ples, blind men, and lepers predomi- 
nate. It is almost impossible to pass 
here by day without being surrounded 
by a filthy and imploring throng of mendicants, who 
mingle a few unmeaning English words they have 
picked up with their professional cant. So great a nui- 
sance and at such a place should . surely be abated by 
law, for not only are all sacred thoughts that would be 
otherwise inspired by the scene of the Master's last 
night on earth dispelled, but, from a more practical 
view, traffic is seriously checked. 

The location of Gethsemane is a mooted point. 
The Latins have enclosed one place, near the foot of 
Olivet; immediately across the road the Greeks have 

232 




STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



235 



enclosed another; while divers cranks have fixed on 
still different spots. 

The Latin Gethsemane is, however, accepted by most 
people. A low house stands near the gate and in the 
garden's center is a great, gnarled olive-tree, the largest 
I ever saw. The tree is very old, and is curiously 
twisted and deformed. It forms the converging point 
of the several paths of the enclosure. The rest of the 
garden is commonplace and well-kept, with regularly 
laid-out beds of marigolds, lavender, and princess-feather, 
and has a prim, modern look that is but half modified 
by the old tree in the center. Its only interest to-day 
arises from the fact, or rather the probability, that it 
was the scene of Christ's Agony. Down the hill from 
the city and across the brook — then living water — the 
Master must have passed with the three disciples on 
the night He was betrayed ; and over the same road 
the priest's servants followed, led by the twelfth dis- 
ciple: the disciple who, says an English writer, but for 
his love of money, might have figured to this day as 
Saint Judas. 

Somewhere near the gate slept the three disciples 
while their Lord went within to pray. 

Of the four Evangelists who describe the night at 
Gethsemane, John alone was present there, and he alone 
of the four neglects — possibly through inadvertence — 
to mention that he and his two colleagues slept when 
Christ had thrice asked them to watch. John also fre- 
quently speaks of himself as the disciple Christ espe- 
cially loved ; yet it was Peter, not he, who struck the 
only blow in His defense. 

On certain fete days of the Catholic Church the gar- 



236 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



den is made a rallying-point for believers, and a species 
of sacred picnic with music and refreshments and a 
great deal of noise is held within its walls. 

The road near the garden chanced to be empty when 
we entered, but before we came out I heard a murmur 
and the patter of many feet on the other side of the 
wall. When we opened the gate, we found before us a 
mob of lepers, who had no doubt been told by a scout 
that a howaji was visiting the garden. As we stepped 
out they rushed at us hungrily, thrusting forward their 
sore, disfigured faces and raising in their rough, weak 
voices the well-known plea of " Abras ! Abras ! Back- 
sheesh, howaji ! backsheesh ! " (Lepers ! We are lep- 
ers ! Give us money, howaji, give us money!) 

David threw a few coppers at them and ordered them 
off, but the sight had already driven all the sacred asso- 
ciations of the place from my mind. 

We went on, over the side of the Mount of Olives 
to Bethany, which is a Sabbath-day's journey (fifteen 
furlongs) from Jerusalem. 

Bethany is now a town little better, and no cleaner 
than the hill-villages I had passed through in Northern 
Palestine. It is built on the hillside, starting at the 
main road and running back toward the top of Olivet. 
Near the end of the village stands a ruined column 
of brownish-red stone, bent and broken, which is too 
remarkable an object to have escaped the vigilant eye of 
the tradition-hunter. It is accordingly pointed out as a 
remnant of the house of Simon the Leper, where Christ's 
feet were bathed by the Magdalene. Sane people, how- 
ever, believe it to be the remains of a defense tower belong- 
ing to the cloister built by Queen Millicent of Jerusalem. 



238 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



I was shown the tomb of Lazarus, a small subterra- 
nean room at the bottom of a flight of steps, much less 
likely to be the genuine burial-place of Lazarus than 
are any of the Jewish tombs built in the neighboring 
rocks. All Jewish tombs were protected by a flat stone, 
not unlike a thin millstone in shape, which was placed 
before the opening. This stone was set in a groove and 
balanced in such a way that the lightest push sent it 
rolling to one side. Hence the "rolling away the 
stone " was no difficult feat. 

Had I still cherished illusions, the visit to Bethany 
must certainly have cured me. It seemed impossible 
that this village with the twoscore flat-roofed mud huts 
swarming with vermin, the squalor and filth, the utter 
lack of all natural or architectural beauty and the horde 
of ragged, ophthalmic natives and half -clad children, 
should once have been the sequestered spot where Our 
Lord, wearied by His earthly labors, came for rest. 

" Do you suppose it was anything like this in Christ's 
time ? " I asked David. 

" Well, sir," he replied doubtfully, " some of those 
ladies you spoke of as 4 saint-chasers ' say it was beauti- 
ful in those days, and had wide streets with shade-trees 
on each side and pretty cottages ; but as I take it, 
country villages in Palestine are very much the same 
now as they were in Christ's day, and we have no real 
reason to think this town was at all different." 

I had often heard descriptions — generally by people 
who had never visited the East (such people are usually 
strong on Oriental description, I find) — of the peaceful 
village with its picturesque peasants, to which the 
world-wearied Christ turned aside for His rare intervals 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



239 



of rest. Reality had sadly changed the surroundings of 
the picture ; but after all, the central Figure remained 
the same, — a Figure that could disregard surroundings. 

We returned to the city through the Valley of Je- 
hoshaphat, stopping on the way to look at the Virgin's 
Fountain, which is Jerusalem's strongest water supply. 

We also passed the potter's field, bought with the 
thirty pieces ; near it we saw a fig-tree that may have 
been fifty years old. David called my attention to it, 
and said tradition named it as the tree whereon Judas 
hanged himself. 

I made Jerusalem my headquarters for weeks, coming 
back to it after all my short trips into the surrounding 
country. I visited a number of places, the description 
of which would fill several unnecessary chapters, and 
upon which, had not others written before me, I might 
be tempted to dwell. But the Tombs of the Kings, the 
Churches of the Evangelists, the Ancient Wells of the 
city, the Arch of Robinson, the Excavations, the Syna- 
gogues, and a hundred other points of interest, are they 
not written in the Chronicles of the many wise men 
who have already published instructive and, as a rule, 
very heavy, books on Palestine ? 

I generally spent the hour of sunset on the roof of 
the Grand Hotel. The hotel was on Mount Zion, and 
commanded a view of the whole city. The air grew 
cooler as the sun sank, and the Mount of Olives was 
bathed in yellow light. At all points of the city I 
could see white-draped natives sitting on their roofs ; 
and I could look down on the soldiers quartered at 
David's Tower, across the street, as they lay smoking or 
talked in groups. As the sun dropped behind the hill 



240 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



above the city where an old-fashioned windmill stood 
out black against the red sky, muezzins from many 
minarets summoned the faithful to prayer, — - a sum- 
mons which, I grieve to say, was little more heeded by 
the faithful at Jerusalem than by their Damascene co- 
religionists. While the shrill call rose and fell on the 
still air, the white-robed loafers gossiped as before, and 
the soldiers, lighting fresh cigarettes, went on with 
their conversation. On a few roofs, pious Mohamme- 
dans spread out rugs, and kneeling on them went 
through some athletic praying. 

A line of pilgrims sometimes came up the street 
singing Latin chants — it was near Christmas-time, 
and pilgrims were nocking from all sides to the Holy 
City — as they dragged their tired bodies toward one 
of the Catholic hospices. The roof-top view at sunset 
was thoroughly Oriental ; and I felt the strong incon- 
gruity on leaving it and going downstairs to a European 
dinner among people of my own land and language. 



Rachel's Tomb. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

CHRISTMAS PAGEANT AT BETHLEHEM — CHURCH OF 

THE NATIVITY. 

HAVE spoken of the processions of 
pilgrims that every day entered Jeru- 
salem. As the Latin Christmas (De- 
cember 25th) drew near, the throngs of 
devotees, cranks, and sight-seers poured 
in from all parts of the world to cele- 
brate the great anniversary. 

Christmas fell on Monday, and high 
mass was to be held Sunday evening in 
the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem. 
David ordered rooms at the Hotel de Bethleem for 
the occasion, and on Sunday morning we left Jerusalem, 
starting before luncheon that we might witness the 
Patriarch's entrance to Bethlehem at noon. The day 
was fine, and as the distance was only five miles, we 
r 241 




242 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



went in a carriage. En route, we passed the birthplace 
of Benjamin, where a convent has been built at the 
end of an avenue of olive-trees; and, farther on, the 
tomb of Rachel. This latter is like most saints' tombs, 
a small, white-domed building, and is in the midst of 
a Bedouin burying-ground. The Bedouin graves are 
scattered irregularly about the field, each one marked 
with an egg-shaped pile of loose stones placed above 
the dead, rather as a protection from wild beasts than 




Elijah's Rock. 



to show the spot of burial. Nearly all graves in the 
East are built for protection either against beasts or 
the elements. In Port Said, Egypt, the burying-ground 
is necessarily laid out in a sand-barren, and lest the 
sand should be blown away by sea-gales and thus leave 
the bodies exposed, wooden boxes — usually painted 
with some gaudy combination of colors — are set over 
the graves. 

Leaving Rachel's tomb we rode on and came to a 
stone-girt well. This is called the Well of the Three 
Kings, and is supposed to be the spot where the three 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



243 



wise men of the East stopped to drink on their way 
to Bethlehem. 

Some distance beyond this, at a turn in the road, is a 
long rock, under a tree. An imprint as of a man's 
body dents the rock, and at the head a cross is carved. 
Here, say true believers (i.e. traditionists), Elijah slept 
when, pausing in his flight from Ahab, he received the 
vision bidding him turn back. 

The steeples and minarets of Bethlehem rose before 
us soon after we left Elijah's Rock, and a few minutes 
later Ave drove down a narrow street just wide enough 
for one carriage to pass, and entered the public square 
of the town, where a large crowd was already gathered. 

The roof of our hotel was, like those of other Eastern 
caravanserais, flat and tiled, with a low wall running 
about it. Thither we went soon after our arrival, and, 
taking seats at a corner that commanded the whole 
square, looked down upon the scene beneath. 

The crowd had by this time become so dense that a 
file of soldiers was sent out from the barracks across 
the way to clear a path along the road to the church. 
The Syrian police might almost have given lessons to 
their New York compeers, for they lashed about with 
a will, striking men, women, and children alike with 
their long cowhide whips. I noticed one improvement 
especially over American methods : such people as 
chanced to be struck, instead of swearing that they 
would complain to the Police Commissioners, or that 
they would vote against the present city government 
next election, submitted meekly and moved back into 
the crowd. 

A public square packed with men, all in holiday 



244 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



attire is, even in western countries, an interesting sight. 
Far more so here where holiday costumes are of the 
most vivid hues. A thousand different tints were 
shown, and the whole square was a tossing, ever- 
changing kaleidoscope, a very carnival of color. 

Shepherds had come in from the surrounding moun- 
tains, many still holding staves or rustic flutes, and one 
or two with lambs or kids in their arms. Peasants, 
farmers, Bedouins, merchants, Nubians, Bethlehemites, 
citizens, rich and poor, from every town in Palestine, 
soldiers, gold-laced cavasses, Turkish nobles, and, in 
short, all sorts and conditions of men were assembled; 
from the Pasha who, surrounded by his richly uni- 
formed suite and wearing an English covert-coat and 
patent leather boots, sat under a large umbrella on 
the barracks terrace, down to Jaffa boatmen with red 
caps and yellow sashes. 

The roofs and casements for blocks around were 
thronged with white-veiled Bethlehem women. The 
long white veils are peculiar to Bethlehem, and the 
bevies of women who wore them looked, as they 
crowded housetop and terrace, like flocks of white 
doves in the dove-cots. 

After ten minutes' hard work on the part of the 
soldier-police, a way was cleared; and down the street 
clattered an irregular troop of horse. Bedouins, sol- 
diers, and such citizens as owned fast horses had offered 
their services to act as the Patriarch's guard, and had 
been accepted at a mejidie each. They headed the 
procession, racing over the slippery stones and making 
their horses curvet and wheel about on their haunches, 
to the admiration and imminent danger of the crowd. 



245 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



As the horsemen passed by, a blare of trumpets 
sounded and then ceased as a deep-toned Latin chant 
arose, swelled from all sides by a thousand voices. 




" They crowded Housetop and Terrace." 



A band of surpliced choir-boys came down the street 
waving censers and singing. Behind them marched in 
two lines, one on either side of the road, fifty Latin 



246 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



monks, tonsured, and wearing albs over their brown 
robes. Some of these monks were Europeans, and had 
pale ascetic faces, clean-shaven as a rule. The brothers 
from Syrian monasteries were, however, for the most 
part tall and broad-shouldered, with bronzed faces and 
heavy beards. The typical Syrian monk's appearance 
always fulfills my idea of John the Baptist. 

Walking in the midst of this escort and followed 
by several hundred Franciscans, came the Patriarch, 
his long skirts held up by two little choir-boys. His 
dress contained nearly all the colors and transition 
hues of the spectrum, lavender and silver predomi- 
nating. 

The chant grew less as it passed on, and the foremost 
of the procession met a company of monks who issued 
from the church. 

David looked over the low wall of the roof after the 
receding pageant and said reflectively, — 

" Our Lord Jesus Christ was a man of sorrows and 
acquainted with grief. He was also a carpenter's son 
and He was laid in a manger. Does all this noise and 
parade seem just in keeping with His life ? " 

The same thought had filled my own mind for the 
past half-hour ; but I was prevented from replying, for 
just then an ecstatic saint-chaser — whom, by the way, 
I had never seen before — turned to me with a volley 
of adjectives in praise of the wonderful sight, and in 
self-gratulation that she had been deemed worthy to 
look on such things with mortal eyes. 

As the last solemn note of the chant ceased at the 
threshold of the church, the crowd began to melt away ; 
and when I looked down again the square was half- 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



247 



empty. We left the roof and crossed over toward the 
Church of the Nativity. 

Bethlehem, like Nazareth, is built into a concave hill- 
side surrounded by fields and olive orchards ; the houses 
are very old, most of them being of gray stone and 
cement, two or more stories high, with arched windows 
and balconies. The 
loose and grass-grown 
stones on many of the 
flat roofs give the 
town a half-ruined 
look that is contra- 
dicted by the thriv- 
ing condition of the 
inhabitants. Bethle- 
hem women are noted 
for their beauty. I 
saw there many girls 
whose faces might 
well have served as 
models for the Ma- 
donna ; they were 
dressed with a pic- 
turesqueness far dif- 
ferent from the ordinary hideous costumes of Syrian 
women. 

Tradition says that since the time when Herod 
slaughtered all the male children of Bethlehem, God 
has recompensed the town by giving the women more 
and fairer sons than those of any other place of its size 
in the East. 

The present population of Bethlehem is about four 




Bethlehem Bride. 



248 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

thousand. The town's principal industry is mother-of- 
pearl working. Nearly all the mother-of-pearl orna- 
ments, carved shells, crucifixes, etc., brought from the 
East are made by Bethlehemite workmen. 

We made our way with some difficulty into the 
Church of the £Jativity. This is perhaps the oldest in 
the world ; it is certainly the oldest in Palestine, having 
been built by Constantine early in the fourth century. 
The interior is rigidly plain, except for the altar and its 
surroundings. High limestone pillars, each a monolith 
and crowned by Corinthian capitals, separate the two 
side aisles from the central space ; and on the walls 
are faint traces of mottoes and paintings left by Crusa- 
ders, with here and there an almost effaced fragment 
of mosaic. The distance from the main entrance to the 
high altar is nearly two hundred feet. 

We made a descent of thirteen steps into the crypt, 
where the Chapel of the Nativity is situated. This 
place was once, like many Palestine stables, a natu- 
ral cave. Instead of leaving the stable in pristine 
roughness, — a state that would have appealed to pil- 
grims, and brought more clearly before them the picture 
of Christ's birth, — every sort of decoration has been 
used to hide the walls and to change the whole aspect 
of the place. 

The Chapel is always lighted. Against the wall at 
one side, stand two marble pillars crowned by a shelf 
that serves as an altar, and that incidentally bears a 
ridiculous resemblance to a mantelpiece. The shelf, 
or altar, holds several pictures of the Nativity ; under 
it is an arched shrine lined with painted marble. This 
is shaped like an open fireplace and is eminently in 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



249 



keeping with the mantel-like arrangement above it. In 
the shrine burn fifteen silver lamps, and on the floor 
beneath is a star, — also of silver, — bearing the inscrip- 
tion : " Hie de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est." 
The star marks the probable spot of Christ's birth. 

A well-known writer on Palestine says that on his 
visit to the Chapel he knelt, like all other pilgrims, 
and kissed the star, " weeping like a child " at sight of 
the inscription. The average man will be more tempted 
to weep with disgust when, after picturing the holy 
quiet and simplicity that should surround the birth- 
place of Our Lord, he finds himself in this room of glar- 
ing hangings and tawdry ornaments, among a crowd of 
whispering, shuffling devotees ; still more will he be 
sickened when he looks on the one rational being in the 
whole place — the very necessary Turkish soldier who 
stands guard in the background to prevent worshipers 
of the Prince of Peace from murdering each other on 
the spot where their Master was born. 

Near the Grotto of the Nativity is the cave in which 
St. Jerome lived in the fourth century, close to the place 
of Christ's birth. In this cave he wrote his great trans- 
lation of the Vulgate. In the church above the Grotto, 
bargaining and gossiping go on freely at all times, and 
travelers are constantly beset by guides, paupers, and 
curio-sellers. 

It is an apt fulfillment of Christ's reproach on man's 
treatment of His Father's house : " Ye have made it a 
den of thieves." 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



MIDNIGHT MASS IN THE CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY — 
CHANT OF THE PILGRIMS — A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 




A.mm 



AVID sent a servant early in the 
evening to hold seats for us for the 
midnight mass in the Church of 
the Nativity. At ten o'clock we left 
our hotel for the church. Mass had 
already begun when we arrived, and 
the building was full. Chairs had 
been set wherever room could be 
found; every aisle was blocked, and 
a number of men stood or knelt be- 
tween the rows of seats. The heat, 
of course, was intense. 

In one part of the church knelt 
several hundred Bethlehem women, their long veils 
blending under the dim tapers into a swaying mass of 
white. In front of them, near the altar, were a number 
of young girls lately confirmed, who, dressed all in 
white, had come to take their first communion. The 
rest of the church was rilled with men, — Syrians, pil- 
grims, and sightseers. 

The High Altar was ablaze and the lights shone mist- 
ily through clouds of incense. Priests moved to and 
fro behind the rail, officiating in the service. The gray- 

250 




SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



251 



bearded Patriarch, bedecked into a life-like imitation of 
Solomon in all his glory, sat in a throne-chair to the 
left of the altar, and every few minutes put on some 
newer and more gorgeous robe, each portion of which 
had a special religious significance. 

Behind the altar-screen sang an invisible choir of 
men and boys, and somewhere else an unseen organ 
played. 

The mass went on until a few minutes before twelve. 
Then the chanting ceased and a great silence fell over 
the crowd of worshipers. Even the priests knelt as if 
carved in stone. Through the midnight stillness came, 
as from afar off, a faint strain of music, and a low, sweet 
lullaby — the sweetest I ever heard — was played. The 
Latins call it " The Lullaby of the Angels." It seemed 
to have no beginning or end. We simply became con- 
scious of it without knowing when it had begun. Even 
the native peasants, whose sole idea of music is gathered 
from their own tuneless songs, awoke and listened in 
wonder. Somehow the stiff, gold-embroidered figure of 
the Patriarch himself looked insignificant as the notes 
of the lullaby stole through the great building. I know 
nothing of music ; I cannot even say whether or not the 
playing was technically good. I only know that the 
audience was silent, and that every man listened with 
a new-found attention ; for myself the story and associ- 
ations of the place came to me as they had not done 
during all the elaborate mass. 

But the sacred interval in the flashy programme was 
destined to be short. Suddenly a little curtain above 
the altar was swept aside by an unseen hand, disclos- 
ing the Cradle and Child. Priests, Patriarch, and 



252 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



devotees prostrated themselves before it, and the full 
choir broke into the Gloria in Excelsis. 

I have heard this Disclosure of the Cradle spoken of 
as a cheap stage-trick, and, looked at from a common- 
sense point of view, it amounts to little more. The 
music, the incense, and the occasion, however, made the 
trick seem less stagey and meretricious at the moment, 
than are the other " shows " of the church. 

At two o'clock the Cradle was carried in procession 
through the nave, with a ceremony similar to the Eleva- 
tion of the Host, and was then taken down into the 
Grotto. 

J amal, knowing that I would be hungry after so long 
a service, had with his ordinary thoughtfulness, ordered 
a light supper to be prepared in the refectory of the 
monastery close by. Here I was joined by a Bey — he 
was also the oldest of forty brothers — whom I had met 
in Damascus, the Commandant of the Jerusalem garri- 
son, and several younger officers, who took supper 
with me. These officers had all been sent with their 
commands to Bethlehem to see that Christmas passed 
off quietly and in order. 

A month or so before, the cavasse of the Russian 
Consul had shot and killed a Latin (Roman Catholic) 
monk in the Grotto of the Nativity, during a scuffle 
for precedence at the altar. An odd complication arose 
from this shooting. The Russian government, as up- 
holders of the Greek Church in Palestine ; the French 
government, protectors of the Latin Church ; the Turk- 
ish government, rulers of the land in which the crime 
was committed, and the Austrian government (the 
cavasse was a Hungarian), all were concerned. The 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



253 



matter was of interest and bade fair to cause an inter- 
national quarrel. Trouble was, however, averted by 
an act which, whether intentional or not, showed rare 
diplomacy. The guards who were conducting the 
cavasse home to prison were forced to stop overnight 
at Port Said (of itself punishment enough for any 
ordinary crime), where the whole party proceeded to 
get gloriously drunk. The cavasse, taking advantage 
of their condition, settled the international difficulty by 
escaping. It was the shortest and easiest mode of end- 
ing the case, and there is little chance of his recapture. 

I heard the above anecdote for the first time from my 
fellow diners, that night at Bethlehem; I have since 
"Been it in European papers. 

We reached the hotel about three o'clock Christmas 
morning, and as I had no wish to sleep I went up to the 
roof for a quiet smoke before turning in. 

My eyes were still dazzled by the lights and my 
senses surfeited by the music and color of the five-hour 
service I had so lately quitted. I found the dim quiet 
of the winter night refreshing. 

All nature was asleep. The square beneath was 
desolate and the hillside houses dark. The night was 
clear and cold, distant trees, rocks, and walls showing 
plainly under the strong light of the southern stars. 

Beyond stretched hills, valleys, and olive orchards, 
unchanged no doubt since the night when " shepherds 
abiding in the field keeping watch over their flocks," 
heard the angels' Gloria. 

The rich fields about the city, now checkered with 
olive-shade, the silent hills that had stood guard over 
the hallowed place for so many ages, and over all the 



254 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



brilliant star I had so often seen, which to-night 
shone brighter than ever as it hung above Bethlehem, 
— all these were far more impressive than the church 
scene I had just left. 

For some time nothing broke the stillness of the 
night. At last, from far away, came the sound of a 
Latin chant, rising strong and solemn on the hushed 
air, re-echoing from the hills and ever drawing nearer. 

I fancied, for a moment, that I was dreaming, for the 
surroundings and the silence had so utterly carried me 
from to-day back into the great Past, that the singing, 
weird and unnatural as it sounded, coming from the 
sleeping valley beyond the town, seemed part of the 
scene I was trying to revive. But I remembered almost 
immediately having heard that a band of pilgrims go to 
the village of the Good Shepherds in the plain below, 
each Christmas morning after the midnight mass, and 
return singing to Bethlehem. 

The chant drew near, and as the pilgrims reached the 
outskirts of Bethlehem all the chimes in the Church of 
the Nativity rang out. The town, so still ten minutes 
before, now re-echoed with the sweet clangor of bells 
and with a hundred singing voices. High in their open 
belfry I could see the black bells tossing wildly to and 
fro against the paler sky ; and through the square 
came the pilgrims, their chant rising louder and more 
solemnly as they passed between the double line of tall 
buildings. 

Then, when the long dark line had wound down 
the street, the chant died slowly away and the bells 
stood still, leaving the night as lonely and silent as 
before. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



257 



Next morning we revisited the church, and then went 
on to the village of the Good Shepherds. From the 
high ground behind the city a little patch of blue water 
between two hills was visible to eastward — a corner 
of the Dead Sea ; and beyond it a level line of brown 
hills — the Mountains of Moab — stood flushed by the 
early sunlight. 

Before leaving the town we visited David's Well, — 
" the well of Bethlehem which is at the gate." From 
this spring the three strong men, having broken through 
the lines of the Philistine army, " drew water — and 
took it and brought it to David : but David would not 
drink of it but poured it out to the Lord." 

The several mouths of the well are kept sealed nowa- 
days and the space around them is walled in. 

I was anxious to reach Jerusalem in time for Christ- 
mas dinner at the New Grand Hotel, so we left Beth- 
lehem early in the afternoon. 

M. Gelat had been waited on by a delegation of guests, 
who had threatened that unless such a Christmas dinner 
were forthcoming as should eclipse any culinary event 
in the annals of Jerusalem, we, the guests, would desert 
in a body, and proceed, pilgrim-like, singing through the 
streets, to Howard's Hotel, the rival hostelry, where we 
would take up our future quarters. 

Whether through fear lest we might carry out our 
threat, or through pride in showing off the ability of his 
cook, mine host promised to do his best ; and he did it. 

When we entered the dining-room that evening we 
found it draped with American, English, Austrian, Ger- 
man, French, Italian, and Turkish flags. Representatives 
of each of these nations were present, and the room was 
s 



258 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



packed. The dinner reflected glory on the name of 
Gelat ; an after-dinner speech of welcome added to his 
fame. 

The retiring United States Consul, Dr. Merrill, was 
toastmaster ; and several regulation speeches, all more 
or less notable for bad delivery and good patriotism, 
were made. So the day closed pleasantly, if in a some- 
what incongruous style. 



Ruins of a Roman Watch-tower. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

VALLEY OF THE KEDRON — EN ROUTE FOR JERICHO — 

RAVENS OR ARABS. 

WAS rain-held in Jerusalem for the 
next week. The Syrian rains, after a 
momentary pause, had recommenced, 
bearing with them a chill and damp- 
ness that found its way through the 
thickest clothes. 

David and I wandered about in the 
daytime seeing churches, excavations, 
antiquities, etc. ; in the evenings I 
played billiards with the Consul in the 
hotel billiard-room. It was not an un- 
pleasant week for me, but, in the midst of a country I 
was anxious to see, I grew tired of life in the city and 
longed for the saddle, the camp, and Massoud. I called 
on the little horse once or twice in his stable, and, 
though he always received me gladly, there was a gentle 
meekness in his manner that foretold a lively time when 
he should be once more on the road. 

259 




260 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



One night the skies cleared, and a northwest wind 
sprang up. The next morning was fine and we started, 
bag and baggage, for Jericho. We left Jerusalem by the 
Jaffa gate and rode through the Valley of Jehoshaphat ; 
stopping on our way to inspect the Pool of Siloam. 
When David had told me we should pass the Pool that 
morning I recalled the lines of the old hymn : — 

" By cool Siloam's shady rill 
How fair the lily grows. 
How sweet the breath beneath the hill 
Of Sharon's dewy rose." 

I had already seen the Rose of Sharon — a weed 
whose blossom is not unlike that of a dried wild carrot. 
Still, I thought, Siloam might be more like the hymnol- 
ogist's idea. Perhaps it may have been more so in the 
time of Christ ; but not now. 

A rocky, barren valley, with a leper settlement on 
the hillside above it, forms the Siloam of to-day. The 
Pool is about fifty by twenty feet in area, and is quite 
shallow. The water is sluggish and dirty, black slime 
covering the bottom and sides. A broken column (the 
remnant of a church) rises from it, and loose, mud- 
coated stones lie about the edge. This constitutes the 
modern edition of " cool Siloam's shady rill." Hie 
jacet another popular illusion ! 

From the spring to the Pool is so slight an incline 
that the connecting stream flows very slowly — in fact, 
without visible motion. Hence, probably, Isaiah's liken- 
ing Israel to " the waters of Shiloah that go softly." 

Higher up in the valley, between Jerusalem and 
Olivet, stands the so-called Tomb of Absalom. Absa- 




Tomb of Absalom: "A Pillar which is in the King's Dale. 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



263 



lom's body really lies in the wood of Ephraim, some 
distance north of Jerusalem. He was not buried in his 
" Tomb," for we read that David's followers " cast him 
into a great pit in the wood and laid a very great heap 
of stones upon him." 

The monument in the valley between the city and 
the Mount of Olives is that mentioned in Second Sam- 
uel : " Now Absalom in his lifetime had taken and 
reared up for himself a pillar which is in the king's 
dale, for he said, 4 1 have no son to keep my name 
in remembrance ; ' and he called the pillar after his 
own name, and it is called unto this day Absalom's 
place." 

The " pillar " is perhaps fifty feet high, and twenty 
feet square ; the lower half is hewn from the solid rock, 
while the upper is built of large stones, rising to a peak 
shaped like the top of a corked bottle. Ionic pillars 
support the sides and a Doric frieze runs about it. The 
only entrance is through an opening in the side some 
distance above the ground. The interior consists of a 
room about eight feet square, which is lined on two 
sides with empty graves cut in the rock. The floor of 
the tomb-room, as well as the outer base of the monu- 
ment, is littered with stones and other rubbish ; for it 
has always been the custom for passers-by to throw 
missiles at it, and at the same time to utter a curse 
against Absalom. 

Instances of this custom of throwing stones and 
curses at the tombs of ill-doers may be seen throughout 
the East. The traditional tomb of Cain has been quite 
covered by pious stone-throwers. The "pillar which 
is in the king's dale " cannot have been completed in 



264 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Absalom's day, as the Greek decorations must neces- 
sarily have been added at a later period. 

As we neared Siloam we saw a dozen lepers sunning 
themselves outside the long, low hovels that serve them 
as shelter. We were in the valley and they high on the 
hill, but they saw us, and, rising, ran down the hill on 
the other side, leaping and hopping grotesquely over 
the stones of the slope in an effort to put speed into their 
stiffened, distorted bodies. They soon disappeared over 
a ridge ; but five minutes later, as we rounded the foot 
of the hill on our southward journey, we came upon 
them crouched in a line at the roadside, unclean rags 
huddled closely about them to keep out the biting 
morning air. 

As we came nearer they looked up as if surprised 
to see us, then, staggering weakly to their feet, they 
went through the regular performance of screaming 
for backsheesh. When I remembered the quickness 
they had shown in hobbling down the hill, this as- 
sumed feebleness added to the revulsion I had always 
felt at the sight of them. 

Almost all the road from Jerusalem to Jericho lies 
nearly thirteen hundred feet below the level of the 
Mediterranean. 

Bedouins are still strong about the Jordan, and 
travelers are obliged to engage a Sheik or elder from 
one of the tribes to act in the double capacity of guide 
and guard from Jerusalem. As the road is perfectly 
plain and as there is no danger from wild beasts, such 
an escort is absolutely unnecessary. It is merely a 
form of tribute expected by the Bedouins for per- 
mission to travel through their country. Government, 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



265 



dragomans, and tourists alike realize this, and no steps 
are taken to prevent the practice. As it is humiliating 
to confess that you pay tribute to a savage tribe for the 
privilege of passing through a settled land, tourists pre- 
tend that the Sheiks who accompany them do so merely 
in the capacity of escort. 

Our "escort," then, was a taciturn Bedouin from 
one of the southern tribes. He was well mounted 
and armed, — the typical tent-dweller in looks, dress, 
and manner, — and had a bad habit of stopping to 
say his prayers — a long and complicated operation — 
whenever we were most in a hurry. 

An hour after we had left Jerusalem we came to 
the Apostle's Fountain, where Christ is said to have 
drunk on his way to Jerusalem. This, tradition tells us, 
was also the spot where He " took the twelve disciples 
apart in the way and said unto them: ' Behold, we go up 
to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man shall be betrayed.' " 

A ruined, one-roomed khan of reddish stone, roofed 
over with some sort of thatch, stands opposite this 
fountain on the other side of the road, and is still 
used as a shelter and resting-place for travelers. 

The air grew warmer as we rode down toward the 
valley of the Jordan, and the landscape had a brighter 
look. It was pleasant to be once more in the saddle, 
riding through open country. We lunched at a khan 
midway between Jerusalem and Jericho. This khan is 
a large walled enclosure roofed over at one end. The 
roofed portion is open at two sides and faces on the 
large courtyard. Tables are set here and there, and 
on the walls rude inscriptions, most of them in French 
or Arabic, have been scratched. 



266 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



The entrance is a gateway with two heavy doors, 
and to the left of this is a small guard-room where 
two Turkish soldiers — caretakers and guards of the 
place — sleep. The building is only five or six years 
old, and is built on the site of a Roman hostelry, 
known as the Khan of the Good Samaritan. Here 
the Samaritan is said to have brought the wounded 
man who had been journeying from Jerusalem to 
Jericho. A quarter-mile farther on, the road winds 
through a mass of rocks, and a turn in the highway 
here is pointed out as the identical spot where the 
unfortunate recipient of the Samaritan's mercy fell 
among thieves. 

On a hill overlooking the traditional scene of the 
disaster are the ruins of a Roman watch-tower, — now 
used as a shelter by shepherds and robbers. If Christ 
related a fact and not merely a parable in His tale of 
the Good Samaritan, and if the location now shown to 
travelers is correct, it speaks poorly for the watchful- 
ness of the Roman garrison stationed in the tower that 
they permitted the robbery to be committed almost at 
their very feet. 

The country became greener as we went on. We 
aroused flocks of brown partridges ; wild pigeons flew 
over our heads, and hares ran occasionally across our 
path. Black goats and long-haired sheep fed on the 
hills and in sheltered valleys, and we passed long 
strings of camels bringing grain to Jerusalem. 

We came, soon after luncheon, to a deep ravine with 
a brook running at the bottom. Our road lay on a 
hill to the right of the ravine, and off and on we 
kept beside it all the afternoon. The opposite moun- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



267 



tain that formed the left wall of the gorge, was almost a 
precipice in steepness, a narrow path running along the 
side about fiftv feet above the brook. Caves and over- 
hanging rocks fringed this path ; and one of the caves 
is believed to have been Elijah's dwelling-place during 
the three years during which he hid from Ahab. The 
stream beneath is the Brook Cherith. A little white 
and gray monastery perched on the cliff side and bear- 
ing a cheerful, prosperous look decidedly out of place in 
the dreary ravine, bears the name of " The Convent of 
Elijah." 

Whether or not the cave shown to travelers is Elijah's 
real hiding-place, it is at least certain that somewhere 
in the gorge the Prophet lived and was fed, — fed, as 
translation has it, by ravens. 

The same word in Hebrew stands for " Arab " and for 
" raven ; " so there is no reason for choosing the more 
improbable of the two words and believing that the 
Prophet was fed by carrion birds. 

The wilderness and desert tribes have been noted 
through all ages for their boundless hospitality ; their 
unwritten laws, as I said in my chapter on the Bedouins, 
force them to give protection and food to any fugitive 
from justice who may come to them. As they are 
almost always at odds with the government, they are 
glad to aid its enemies or victims ; so it is more than 
probable that when Elijah, flying from the king, came 
to their country, not the ravens, but the " Arabs " 
brought him bread and flesh in the morning and bread 
and flesh in the evening. 

We read that when " the brook was dried up because 
there was no rain in the land," the Prophet was told to 



268 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



go to Zarephath. The miraculous birds who could bring 
him " bread and flesh " from the desert, surely would 
have been at no loss to bring water as well ; but the 
desert tribes would, in time of drought, have found 
themselves helpless to aid their protegS. 

Some early translator, wishing no doubt, to bring in a 
miracle whenever there was the slightest opportunity 
for one, used the word "raven" instead of the more 
natural term " Arab, " and so the translation has stood 
and probably will continue to stand for all time. 

The brook's sides are lined with long green grass and 
bushes, often hiding it so that a chance glint of sunlit 
water is the only sign of its presence. 

A little before sunset we rode down the last hill into 
the rich plain of Jericho. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



DEAD SEA FRUIT — MODERN JERICHO — THE DEAD 

SEA — THE JORDAN. 



N the Plain of Jericho we found even 
richer foliage than in the Meadow of 
the Three Thousand. Thorn bushes 
and shrubs of all sorts were growing 
fresh after the rain, and acacia blos- 
soms filled the air with fragrance. 
Herds of camels and sheep wandered 
picturesquely about, cropping grass, 
or rested under the ih&de of the low 
trees , 

To the north lay Gilead, famous 
of old for its balm, and other well- 
known sites dotted the plain. 
When Antony, having left Cleopatra for Octavia, 
wished to return to his old love, he deeded to her and to 
the Egyptian crown, by way of peace-offering, this Plain 
of Jericho, then one of the richest valleys in the world. 

We crossed the dry bed of a broad river under the 
arches of a modern stone aqueduct, and rode to the top 
of a little hill on the other side, where stood our camp. 
Near the camp were bushes laden with yellow, tomato- 
like fruit. I picked some of the fruit and bit into it. 

It was dry and almost filled with seeds, and had a sour 

269 




270 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



astringent flavor that left a bad taste in my mouth for 
hours. This was the celebrated " Dead Sea Fruit," 
found only in the Jericho region. A single taste en- 
abled me henceforth to understand the depth of the 
expression, " Apples of Sodom." 

The Dead Sea itself, several miles to the southwest, 
was in full sight ; and a long twisting line of trees 
running north from the midst of the " Sea " showed the 
course of Jordan. Beyond the line of trees lay the 
Land of Moab. We could see a flat plain reaching back 
a short distance, then rising abruptly to a range of tall 
mountains, the Mountains of Moab, that we had seen 
from Bethlehem. These mountains run parallel with 
the general course of Jordan and are in the afternoon 
plainly visible from Jerusalem itself. They look in the 
distance not unlike the Hudson palisades. 

Opposite our camp one mountain stood slightly higher 
and more prominent than the rest. This was — 

" Nebo's lonely mountain," 

and the highest peak — 

" Pisgah's lofty height," 

from which, after forty years' wandering and privation in 
the wilderness, Moses looked down on the Promised Land. 
A fair sight it must have been, this rich valley with its 
date-palms and clear rivers, backed by mighty hills that 
were in those times as fertile perhaps as the valley itself. 

I like to fancy that Moses first looked on the scene at 
an hour when it was filled with the glow of sunset. It 
is more beautiful then than at any other time. 

" It was hard for Moses to die just at the threshold 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



271 



of the Promised Land," said David as we stood looking 
at the sunset, " but I think it was better for him. He 
saw the new country, and thought Israel's sufferings 
were over. He was happier in not living to see the 
trouble and wars that followed their coming. Moses 
was not a warrior." 

A mound with a collection of stones and broken pot- 




Ancient Jericho. 



tery under the surface is all that remains of ancient 
Jericho. Near the mound is a stone-lined pool, called 
the Fountain of Elisha. This and a hut or two in the 
neighborhood are the only signs of human workmanship 
in what was once the greatest city in all the plain. 

The modern town of Jericho lies more than a mile to 
the east, and consists of thatched mud and stone sheds, 



272 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



where natives live, a hospice, an ugly modern hotel, 
and a high four-walled structure said to be the house 
wherein Zaccheus entertained our Lord. When this 
building falls in, and its ruins can no longer be ex- 
hibited, the tradition will probably pass on to the hotel. 

Shaded lanes, orchards, and orange-groves lie on all 
sides about the ugly little town, cactus hedges wall 
in rich pastures ; and here and there a bit of rustic 
work or a wooden gate with a rude cross over it may 
be seen. 

As David and I rode past the town, a negro boy gayly 
dressed galloped by on a donkey, closely pursued by our 
taciturn guide, the Sheik. A moment after passing us 
the Bedouin caught up with his quarry, and without 
checking his horse's pace, seized the boy by the neck — 
lifting him, Absalom-like, so that his donkey ran from 
under him — and flung him in a heap on the stony 
road. 

We learned afterward that the negro had tried to 
steal some of John's cooking outfit, and being discov- 
ered in the act, had fled. The Sheik hearing of it had 
followed up the fugitive — with the result we had just 
witnessed. He stood over his victim, as we rode up, 
looking as proud of the exploit as though he had 
brought down the Beast of Revelation. When we 
applauded his strength and horsemanship, he looked 
still more pleased, and smiled for the first time since 
he had joined us. 

We stayed about Jericho and the Jordan for several 
days, for the weather was fine and we had much to see. 
Often in the evening David would have the dining-tent 
decked with great, fruit-laden boughs from orange and 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



273 



sweet-lemon trees. The Jericho oranges, when fresh, 
are quite good, but cannot compare with those of Jaffa, 
which are said to be the best in the world — Floridas 
not excepted. The sweet lemons I never tasted else- 
where. They are slightly insipid and bear a trace of 
the ordinary lemon's flavor without the acidity. 

The day after our arrival we set out with the lun- 
cheon tent, for a visit to the Dead Sea. As we neared 
the " Sea," verdure ceased almost entirely, and was 
replaced by huge patches of white salt. This salt is a 
government monopoly, and men are sent at certain 
seasons to gather it. The grass was quite displaced by 
salt near the water's edge. 

We dismounted near a hut of boughs, the dwelling- 
place of two government employes whose business it is 
to gather lumps of bitumen as they rise to the surface 
of the water after a storm and to prevent peasants from 
stealing salt from the adjacent fields. Two boats re- 
cently placed there by order of the Sultan were moored 
before the hut. 

I had read so many conflicting accounts of the sensa- 
tions and difficulties connected with bathing in the Dead 
Sea, that I resolved to try a plunge and find out for my- 
self what it was like. 

One man had told me of a friend of his who once tried 
to dive here, and who, having got his head under 
water, could not raise it again, and so was drowned. 
Another man had said the salt and bitumen left a sting- 
ing and soreness over the whole surface of the body. 

As I visited the place in January, the water was not 
exactly warm, but I enjoyed the swim for all that. At 
least a third of the body is out of water in floating ; this 

T 



274 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



peculiar buoyancy makes fast swimming an impossibility, 
for in the racing stroke the feet are more often in air 
than in water. It is extremely difficult to dive, and 
swimming under water is out of the question. 

When I had finished my bath and come to the shore 
again, the water dried quickly and I looked like the land 
about the sea : my hair and beard were white with salt, 
and days passed before I was quite free from it. 

Ten minutes' ride brought us to a plantation of high 
bushes that gave forth a sweet, pungent odor. Riding 
through these to a second plantation of feathery reeds, 
we found ourselves on the edge of Jordan, where we 
were to lunch. We were at the spot where the tribes 
are said to have crossed, and where many authorities 
claim that Christ was baptized. If either of these claims 
be true, the river bed must necessarily have changed 
greatly in the past eighteen hundred years, for at pres- 
ent the current is very swift, the water is yellow and 
turbulent, and sweeps strongly around the curve just 
above the " crossing place." 

Wishing to get rid of the salt and of a mucilaginous 
feeling caused by my late swim, I followed the counsel 
given Naaman the Syrian, and " dipped seven times in 
Jordan " ; like the Syrian captain, I went in white as 
snow and came out — partially cleansed. The water 
was at least thirty degrees colder than in the Dead Sea, 
and the current too strong for comfort. I swam across 
with some difficulty, and was about to land when David 
shouted from the opposite shore that the bank I had 
nearly reached was one great quicksand. Accordingly, 
I swam back again and landed half-frozen, wondering if 
the water was as cold in the days of Joshua. If it was, 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



277 



we might forgive the Hebrews if they had hesitated to 
cross. 

Reeds grow thickly on either bank, and near the 
curve of the river join with vines and trees in forming a 
jungle, where wild boars are often found. Trees of all 
sorts overhang the stream, giving it the look of one of 
our own mountain creeks. Sycamores, too, are plenti- 
ful in this region ; these are seldom straight, but slant as 
a rule at an angle of from forty-five to ninety degrees. 
I have seen some of these sycamore-trees where the rise 
is so gradual that a man might easily walk up the trunk 
to the topmost bough. Such a tree, slanting over the 
highroad, Zaccheus doubtless climbed to watch Christ 
pass by. 

The Dead Sea at one time covered much of the Plain 
of Jericho; beaches have been found showing that the 
water was once at least six hundred feet above its pres- 
ent level. The sea is at present only fifty miles long 
and fifteen miles in width. On the eastern side high 
mountains come down to the water's edge. The western 
slope is more gradual. 

The sites of Zoar and other "cities of the plain" are 
still visible, and, in the valley to the south of the sea, 
where salt has collected in heaps and rough columns, 
the untiring tradition-hunter points out the pillar of salt 
that was once Lot's wife. The tradition-hunter has not 
stopped there, but has christened a mountain above 
Jericho " The Mount of Temptation," and declares the 
summit to be the one from which Satan showed our 
Lord " all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of 
them." "The world" at that time must have been 
somewhat limited and compact, since the eye from such 



278 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



a height can cover a radius of little more than fifty 
miles. 

We read of the solemn desolation of the Dead Sea ; of 
its dismal, poisonous waters, and the power of the fumes 
to kill the very birds that try to fly over it. My own 
impression of the place was different. The water, deep- 
blue in the sun, is as clear as any I have ever seen, and 
being open on three sides, the bright surface is con- 
stantly ruffled by a breeze. The land immediately about 
it is barren, for no crops can be raised in the salt-strewn 
ground ; but it is hemmed in by one of the richest val- 
leys and by the most stately hills in all Palestine. 

Most hymn-writers who have described it — and from 
whom we draw more largely than we realize for our 
ideas of the Holy Land — have never visited the East. 
Hence their descriptions are purely imaginary and based 
on the sea's name alone, — a name which I admit does 
not promise much in the line of cheerfulness or of 
beauty. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE — TALES AND SONGS OF 

THE CAMP. 

AVID had ordered a gigantic camp- 
fire to be built on our last night at 
Jericho. I was still lingering over 
my coffee that evening when the 
dragoman appeared at the dining- 
tent door. 

" Serkeese has been moved to tell 
a story, sir," he said, laughing. " He 
is in the middle of it now. Should 
you like to hear him? " 

Looking out I saw a crowd of men 
seated about the roaring fire, — 
muleteers and other servants, John, 
Imbarak, an old Bedouin (poet of his tribe), the young 
Sheik who escorted us, and two guards. All were look- 
ing toward the head of the ring, where the redoubtable 
Serkeese, having installed himself on a heap of saddles 
and blankets, was holding forth in what seemed, to 
judge from his gestures and occasional howls, to be 
nothing less than a tale of war and murder. 

As we lay back in our sea-chairs just outside the circle, 
I asked David how many enemies the hero of the story 
had killed thus far. 




281 



282 



STB I A FROM THE SADDLE. 



"It's not that sort of story, sir," he answered. "It 
deals with love — what you call a romance ; of a poor 
young man who is in love with a prince's daughter." 

His words were drowned by Serkeese, who at this 
point emitted a succession of prolonged screams, leaping 
up and throwing his arms about. 

"Is he having a fit, David?" I inquired in real 
anxiety. 

" Oh no, sir. The young hero — " 

" Has begun fighting at last ? " I interrupted. " I 
knew he was bound to get at it sooner or later. These 
Oriental heroes of yours will end by depopulating your 
country if they keep on." 

" Excuse me, sir, there is no fight in this story," said 
David, with some dignity. "I have heard it told before, 
so I know. The part you thought was a fight was 
where the hero tells the prince how dearly he loves the 
young princess. Shall I translate as the boy goes on ? " 

I declined his offer, preferring to study the listening 
group undisturbed. The firelight shone red on the 
crowd of eager figures as they leaned forward in various 
attitudes to catch each word ; the picture formed by 
the dark faces and the white, scarlet, and yellow cos- 
tumes relieved by flashes of light reflected from dirk, 
pistol, and sword, was one not easily forgotten. 

The muleteers — common stablemen from Jerusalem 
khans — were all attention, repeating under their breath 
each sentence Serkeese spoke. The guards, who were 
simple country fellows unused to such excitement, 
listened delightedly, nudging each other in ecstasy 
whenever some specially ear-splitting yell issued from 
the speaker's cave-like mouth. The Sheik lay almost 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



283 



at full length, chin on hand, eyes half shut, and with 
an indifferent, disdainful look on his high-bred face ; 
for what interest had he, a prince, in the company and 
stories of these servants ? Yet I noticed that when any 
interesting or exciting point of the tale was reached, 
his hands would clench, and he glanced eagerly toward 
Serkeese. The Bedouin bard seemed not to hear. His 
gray beard was buried in the breast-folds of his abieh 
and his lips moved noiselessly. 

" He is composing," explained David. " We shall hear 
his composition when the story is finished." 

Half an hour more was taken up in pacifying the 
stern father and in bringing hero and heroine to a 
proper understanding ; then, with one long, last, linger- 
ing howl, the narrator glanced triumphantly about the 
ring, and leaned back to listen to such feeble efforts as 
might follow his masterpiece. 

There was no applause, and, absorbed as his hearers 
had been in the story, the moment Serkeese finished 
they seemed to dismiss the whole subject from their 
minds and to wait for something else. 

The old poet did not keep them waiting long. Rais- 
ing his head and looking straight into the fire, he began 
to sing, at first slowly and reflectively as if spelling out 
words from among the flames ; then, as the song went 
on, his voice increased in volume, and he ended with a 
shout, clear and strong like a war-cry. He made no 
gestures, but as he sang, the bent figure and wrinkled 
face seemed in the firelight to expand, and to gather 
dignity and strength. The song was shorter than Ser- 
keese's story, and had a somewhat novel plot. I will 
give a brief outline of it. 



284 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



A Bedouin girl was stolen by a hostile tribe. The 
Sheik of her tribe called on his warriors to go forth 
against the abductors and bring her back. There were 
many young men and boys in his tribe who he thought 
would be of no use in battle ; so he decreed that none 
should go on the expedition except men whose beards 
were of such a length that the heavy wooden beard-comb 
used among Bedouins would hang unsupported in them. 
Now the lover of the stolen girl was but a mere boy, and 
had no beard. Fearing, therefore, that he must remain 
in the tents with the women while his tribesmen went to 
war, and fearing to lose his sweetheart's love if he were 
not among her rescuers, he seized a beard-comb, and 
with all his force drove the sharp teeth into his bare 
chin, leaving it sticking there, and appearing thus 
before the Sheik with the demand that he should be 
allowed to join the other warriors. The Sheik, pleased 
with the boy's pluck, gave the desired permission. His 
order " Go forth ! " was the shout that ended the song. 

" The old chap looks like a warrior himself, just 
now," I remarked as he finished. 

" He was one, once," replied David. " He had a war 
story of his own. Maybe you'd like to hear it, sir? 
His was a true story and not a song." 

I assured the dragoman that I should like to hear 
it, — most of David's stories were well worth listening 
to, — and he began : — 

" This man and his elder brother lived years ago in 
the Land of Moab. The brother was Sheik of his tribe, 
and the fiercest, strongest warrior in all the country. 
The poet here was much younger — little more than 
a boy. The two brothers loved each other dearly. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



285 



The Sheik had a quarrel with another tribe near by, 
and whenever he came upon one or two, or even three, 
men of that tribe, he would attack them. He always 
either killed them or put them to flight, for no two 
men dared stand against him. 

" Well, one day when he was riding alone, he met 
two shepherds of the tribe tending their flocks. He 
rode at them immediately with his sword drawn; it 
made little difference to him what sort of men he 
killed so long as they were his enemies. In battle he 
had been fired at and missed so often that people had 
begun to believe he was bullet-proof.. Nevertheless, 
this day as he came near, one of the shepherds, know- 
ing he must be killed in any case, and preferring to 
die fighting, raised his gun and fired at the Sheik. 
The gun had been carelessly aimed, but the ball 
struck the Sheik in the breast and killed him im- 
mediately. 

" His brother found the body and collected his men 
against the shepherd's tribe. The man who had shot 
the Sheik had been so proud of his act that he had 
boasted of it everywhere, so the brother soon knew 
what tribe to attack." 

" Don't say he killed a hundred men by himself in 
the fight, please ! " I begged, thinking it was a repe- 
tition of the old story. 

" I don't know about that, sir, but his tribe certainly 
defeated their enemies in the battle, and the poet fought 
hard. My father, who was guest there at the time, has 
told me that when the young man came back after rout- 
ing the other tribe, his hand was so tightly closed on 
his sword-hilt that they had to bathe it in warm water 



« 



286 SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 

and rub it before it could be unclasped. He had struck 
so hard and so often that the hand was paralyzed for 
the time. Don't you remember another case like that 
in the story of King David's strong men, where Eleazer 
4 arose and smote the Philistines until his hand was 
weary and his hand clave unto his sword'? 

" The young man would have been by rights Sheik 
of the tribe, now that his brother was dead, and es- 
pecially since he had proved himself such a good 
fighter, but he refused to become Sheik; either his 
brother's death or a sword-cut he received on the head 
during the battle seemed to craze him. He would not 
live with his tribe any longer, but left them and 
wandered about the country, sometimes stopping at 
one place, sometimes at another, but never staying 
in any one spot long. 

" Wherever he went, his reputation as a warrior 
gave him a welcome ; besides, since he had become 
a little mad, he had learned to compose songs, and 
men liked to hear him. So he got the name of being 
a poet, and for over forty years he has wandered from 
one end of Syria to the other. He still speaks of his 
brother as if he were alive. I thought it might amuse 
you to see him, so, when I found he was in the neigh- 
borhood, I sent him word to come here to-night." 

The fire was dying out ; the crowd around it had 
dispersed, and most of them already lay wrapped, 
mound-like, in blankets, snoring loudly. The guards 
had gone for fresh fuel, and Imbarak and John had 
retired to the kitchen tent. 

The old Bedouin sat alone by the dying fire ; his 
arms were crossed and his face — the fever of inspi- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



287 



ration all faded from it — was once more sad and 
wrinkled. His eyes were still fixed on the embers 
and his lips moved silently. As I was going to sleep 
that night, I looked through the tent door and saw 
him in the same position. 

In the morning when we awoke he was gone, — having 
had, however, the forethought in his sorrow-laden mind 
to carry away with him a pair of chickens and some of 
the muleteers' bread ; — possibly the Bedouin fashion of 
expressing grief. 

We started back to Jerusalem early the same morning. 
The weather in the low-lying valley had been ideal, and 
I had begun to think that at length " the winter was 
past and the rain was over and gone." We had scarcely 
left the Khan of the Good Samaritan on our homeward 
trip when the skies, for some hours past clouded and 
lowering, poured down a flood of rain that more than 
made up for all past deficiencies. We galloped on 
through the heaviest storm I had yet known in Pales- 
tine, and in our old-time drenched condition pulled up 
for luncheon, after a long ride, at the khan by the Apos- 
tles' Fountain. Here David ordered a large fire of 
thorn bushes to be kindled, and by its heat we became 
somewhat more comfortable. 

These thorn-bushes grow thickly all through Syria, 
and form the natives' principal item of fuel. They 
stand about a foot high and are nearly eighteen inches 
in diameter ; they have no stalk but are made up of a 
mass of sharp thorns. When dried they burn like tin- 
der, quickly and with incessant crackling. Having once 
heard the noise they make in burning, it is easy for one 
to understand the simile of "the crackling of thorns 



288' 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



under a pot." Peasant women gather thorn-bushes in 
bundles, sometimes six feet square, which they carry on 
their heads. 

I heard a Bible scholar once say he believed it was 
a little bush of this sort that one of the Roman guard 
pulled up on the way to Calvary and placed on Our 
Lord's head. A rough practical joke of that sort would 
surely be more in keeping with the character of the 
Roman soldiery than would the tedious plaiting of a 
crown of ordinary thorns. 

A tree bearing long green thorns is shown in the road 
from Jordan as having grown from a slip of the tree 
whose thorns were used for Christ's crown, — a sacred 
version of "The House that Jack built" that finds much 
favor among devotees, many of whom bear away boughs 
of the tree as relics. 

After the pile of thorn-bushes was lighted at the khan, 
our host produced a bottle of good French brandy which 
was kept here for the use of travelers. Under the com- 
bined influences of brandy and fire, the tumble-down 
khan, with streams of water pouring through the ill- 
thatched roof, became quite a cheerful place in contrast 
to the outer torrent of rain and the flooded road. 

Luncheon over, we started on the last stage of our 
journey, Massoud's gaudily-dyed wet saddle cloth im- 
printing, en route, beautiful patterns on my mackintosh 
and riding trousers. 

I was fated, it seemed, to enter the Holy City at all 
times in some bizarre fashion. To-day, fortunately, the 
rain kept all tourists in-doors ; and, drenched, cold, and 
tired, but unobserved, I gained the hotel and my own 
room. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



MAR SABA — GREEK CHRISTMAS AT BETHLEHEM 

HEBRON. 




HEN the skies cleared once more we 
started on a pilgrimage to Mar Saba. 

We traversed, after leaving Jerusa- 
lem, some miles of regulation valley, 
closed in on either side by stony gray 
hills ; then we came to rising ground 
and soon struck a mountain road that 
led upward by a succession of step-like 
ledges. Rocks overhung our road on 
one side, and shadows from high moun- 
tains darkened it. On the other side 
was a deep gorge or chasm ; a sheer 
drop for hundreds of feet. Across the gorge, forming 
one of the walls, and higher than that on our own side, 
rose a precipice brown and somber, and honeycombed by 
tens of thousands of caves. Somewhere in this hideous 
wilderness, in one of the caves, John the Baptist once 
lived, sleeping among the rocks, wearing the hide of 
beasts, and eating Avild honey and locusts. He certainly 
chose a fitting spot for meditation and quiet, for little of 
the outer world could penetrate here or distract the mind. 
So evidently thought other men, and, following John's 
footsteps, came myriads of hermits from all parts of 

u 289 



290 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



the world to settle here in caves and live as ascetics. 
Here also came a horde of Persian soldiers, swarming 
over the sides of the rock, sword in hand, searching 
every cave, massacring the holy men by thousands, and 
throwing their bodies into the chasm beneath. A 
grand hunt it was, man against man, changing for 
the moment the somber precipice into a vast charnel 
house. 

It was late in the afternoon as we went over this 
road. Darkness had already crept along the bottom of 
the gorge, and the evening hush was broken only by 
the low whistling of innumerable orange-and-black birds 
as they flew to their nests on the rock. The technical 
name for these birds is " grackle " ; they are found only 
in the region of Mar Saba and the Dead Sea ; they are 
about the size of an American robin and are marked 
like our own red-winged blackbird. 

Behind us, as we mounted higher on the road, we saw 
a tall bare mountain — El Muntar (the Watch Tower). 
It was to this mountain, say many authorities, that the 
scapegoat bearing the sins of Israel was led yearly to 
perish. One of my fellow-guests at the Grand, in talk- 
ing of the ancient custom, a few days before, had re- 
marked that " it seemed a pity to have spoiled a good 
goat just for the sake of getting rid of a lot of Jewish 
sins." 

The winding mountain-track brought us at last to the 
monastery of Mar Saba (Arabic for St. Saba). To this 
spot, in the middle of the fifth century, came Saint Saba 
at the age of eighteen, to spend the rest of his days as 
a hermit and an ascetic. Legends tell us that at first 
his only companion was a lion who shared his cave and 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



291 



food. Little by little other hermits joined him, and at 
last the monastery of St. Saba — the oldest in the world 
— was built. 

It is still in perfect preservation, hanging far out over 
the precipice side ; the high outer walls and turrets 
giving it rather the look of a mediaeval castle than of 
a home for monks. 

A few rods higher up the rock, directly above the 
monastery walls, stands a tower built in the time of 
Justinian and now used as a sleeping-place for feminine 
pilgrims. As is the rule governing all such houses, no 
women are admitted within the walls of Mar Saba. 

The monastery belongs to the Greek Church, and is a 
sort of penal settlement for refractory monks. When 
a priest gets himself into trouble by murder, by theft, 
or by meddling with politics, he is packed off to the 
wilderness and forced to live in this rigidly kept prison- 
convent. I saw there, in consequence, as perfect a col- 
lection of cut-throats, and as bad a set of faces, as could 
be found in any jail in the land. 

The brethren pass such time as is allowed them 
from religious services and discipline, in carving sou- 
venirs, such as salad-forks and spoons, cane-heads, 
rosaries, etc., which they sell to tourists. Rumor hath 
it, that once in a while some ungodly howaji presents 
some of them with a flask of liquor, which they smuggle 
cautiously into the monastery and proceed forthwith to 
lay themselves open to fresh discipline. 

We camped in a glen a quarter of a mile beyond the 
walls. One or two monks brought curios for sale, but, 
except for these, we were free from visitors. 

The morning after our first arrival David and I went 



292 



ST EI A FROM THE SADDLE. 



through the monastery. We entered a large courtyard. 
In the center was a stone chapel containing a single 
room whose shrine, chandelier, and ornaments were all 
of silver. One or two flashy prints hung on the walls, 
and spoiled what might otherwise have been a fine effect. 

Crossing the yard we entered the main building ; this 
we found furnished with strict, almost mean plainness ; 
there was .about it, despite its well-kept condition, an air 
of squalor. The brethren, with their greasy black gowns, 
their coarse faces, and the long stringy hair that escaped 
from under their inverted tile hats, did not lessen the 
squalid aspect of the place. 

I was led, as a crowning glory, up many flights of 
steps and through rock corridors to a dirty little cave in 
which, as one of the monks told me in very bad Latin, 
Mar Saba and the lion had lived. 

We stopped on the way out at a flat parapet that 
jutted directly over the gorge. As we came to this 
parapet hundreds of black-and-orange birds flocked about 
us from all sides to be fed. David produced a bag of 
raisins and cut-up figs which we threw to them. Each 
piece was caught in mid-air. The recipients of this 
food were perfectly tame and flocked about us with as 
little fear as is shown by the pigeons at St. Mark's in 
Venice. We stood at the edge of the parapet and threw 
morsels of figs or raisins down into the ravine. The 
distance to the bottom was several hundred feet, and of 
all the pieces of food that we threw not one reached the 
ground. As soon as a raisin left our hands a dozen 
birds would start after it. Sometimes a piece would be 
missed at first ; when this happened the pursuers would 
dart under it and try to catch it as it came down to 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



293 



them. Often this manoeuvre would be repeated half 
a dozen times before a raisin was caught, but it was al- 
ways successful in the end. These birds form the only 
pleasant phase of life in the dreary neighborhood and 
drearier monastery. 

Leaving Mar Saba, we once more had a glimpse of Her- 
mon, white-headed as ever, far to the north. We rode 
northwest through the hills toward Bethlehem, for we 
wished to witness the Greek Christmas-service held there 
that day. After a slow journey over rough ground we 
reached the outskirts of Bethlehem, and camped in an 
olive-shaded level place known as the Field of Boaz. 
We left our horses here and went on foot to the city, 
arriving at the Greek Church a little before sunset. 

The Greek Christmas (Latin Epiphany) is in its way 
as interesting as the ceremonies on December 25th. 
Pilgrims of the Greek Church come from. Russia and 
Greece and even from far-away Switzerland to attend the 
Epiphany Christmas-service, traveling on foot and arriv- 
ing footsore, ragged, and half-starved. I have forgotten 
exactly how many sins are crossed off the sacred " score " 
by this pilgrimage. For days past we had seen the 
devotees singly and in parties trudging toward Bethle- 
hem. Most of them were Russians ; the women with 
lined, patient faces and shapeless figures, wearing 
huge flat shoes and coarse dresses ; the men, bovine, 
stupid fellows, rough-haired, and in all sorts of costumes 
from furs of Siberia down to threadbare semi-European 
black suits. Both sexes were, as a rule, of large stature. 

Stalls had been set up inside the church, at which, as 
we entered, a throng of pilgrims was buying colored 
and pictured candles of all sizes ; these candles they 



294 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



promptly lighted as soon as they were bought, and the 
numberless twinkling lights they shed filled the gloomy 
space with brightness. 

The peasants looked on their surroundings with holy 
awe, kneeling reverently before each altar and sacred relic. 
Many wept profusely at the Grotto of the Nativity. 

I remember one Russian peasant especially, both 
because of his picturesque appearance and of his de- 
voutness. He seemed about twenty-five years old; 
he was a giant in height and breadth, and had a great 
shock of yellow hair that rose above and surrounded 
his head, shining in the candle-light like a golden 
halo. He wore thigh-boots and a fur-trimmed jacket. 
His fur cap was in one hand, and in the other he held 
a thick lighted candle that was covered with pictures 
representing the Nativity, the Adoration, and the Cruci- 
fixion. He kissed these pictures, one by one, from 
time to time, his simple, unintelligent face and blue 
eyes alight with a sort of ecstasy. A feeble old woman 
held one of his arms, and once or twice he gave her the 
candle to kiss. An observer has only to go among 
these peasants and note their simplicity and their cred- 
ulous love for sacred things to believe all accounts of 
their behavior at Easter when the " heaven-sent fire " 
is shown. The Greek Christmas rites are much the 
same as those of the Latins, but somewhat less elaborate, 
and, to me, less impressive. 

We came upon Domian, Jamal's partner (a first- 
rate dragoman, and perhaps the handsomest man in 
Palestine) on our way from the church. He is a Greek 
by birth and religion. I asked if he were not going to 
attend mass. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



297 



"Not now, sir," he replied. "I am on a round of 
visits to certain friends. We Greeks here in Syria 
have a custom of calling, Christmas day, on any of our 
friends who chance to be named Asa. For according to 
our faith, ' Asa ' is one of the names of Jesus ; and we 
go to-day to pay our respects to all who bear that name." 




Fountain of Solomon. 



We left Bethlehem next morning for Hebron. A 
carriage-road lies all the way from Hebron to Jeru- 
salem and is one of the favorite drives in the vicin- 
ity. A few miles beyond Bethlehem we came to 
the sealed fountains of Solomon. These are three in 
number, and still furnish water for the neighborhood. 
Several women were at work at one of the pools as we 



298 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



passed; some washing clothes, and others filling goat- 
skins with water to carry home. 

Skins are the favorite receptacles for water in the 
East. An ordinary untanned goat, pig, or even a 
donkey skin is taken, the openings at the legs and neck 
are plugged up, and behold ! the receptacle is complete. 
Water that is carried in these skins for all distances 
and in the hottest weather, is sometimes — strange 
as it may seem — not exactly palatable to untrained 
foreigners. 

The water of the sealed fountains is not clear, and 
each fountain is surrounded by a dirty stone wall. 
They were doubtless more inviting at the time that 
Solomon praised them in his Song. 

I had heard much of the vineyards of Hebron and 
had drunk the celebrated Hebron wine ; so that I 
expected from all accounts to see the place fairly em- 
bowered with vines. Several miles before we reached 
the town itself we came to the vineyards. They are 
terraced and lie on all sides about Hebron. Like the 
vineyards of the Rhine, they consist merely of lines of 
charred-looking bent stakes. 

Small huts and towers are placed at intervals among 
them, where, in the season, keepers are set to guard 
the vines. Such guard duty is by no means easy, as 
patient and often perilous watch must be kept. The 
" watch-towers " of the keepers are in many cases mere 
booths, little stronger than "blinds," built of boughs. 
These huts or " towers " are referred to in the text : 
" He buildeth his house ... as a booth that the keeper 
maketh," and in Isaiah's comparison between weak 
Jerusalem and "a booth in a vineyard." The vine- 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



299 



keeper's duties may also have been referred to by the 
Psalmist in the verse, " He that keepeth Israel shall 
neither slumber nor sleep." 

A mile to the west of Hebron stands a Roman 
hospice or gasthaus, for the accommodation of pilgrims 
who wish to visit Jutta, the traditional birthplace of 
John the Baptist, which is near by. Before the hospice 
is a large evergreen oak, which is pointed out as the 
tree under which Abraham lived at Mamre. This tree 
must be almost four hundred years old; the story 
connected with it deserves therefore more credence 
than do most Palestine traditions. 

Hebron, perhaps the most thoroughly Moslem city 
in Syria, is built on the south slope of a hill ; and has 
a population of nearly eighteen thousand, of whom 
only five persons are Christians. Two hundred more 
are Jews and the rest Mohammedans. 

Native Christians and tourists are soon made to feel 
how unwelcome they are, for the Hebronites take little 
trouble to conceal their dislike for outsiders of other 
faiths. The Jews who live in Hebron make money — 
somewhat precariously it is true — by usury and other 
trades dear to the Israelitish heart, and therefore, 
despite the thousand insults and abuses daily heaped on 
them by the lords of the soil, remain there in preference 
to going to other towns in which they might gain more 
toleration but less wealth. 

Glass-making is the main industry of Hebron. This 
single town once furnished the whole East with glass ; 
even now, though the trade is much restricted, its work- 
shops turn out large quantities of glass ornaments, 
rosaries, etc. 



300 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Many of the streets are mere tunnels with houses 
built overhead; many more are covered with straw 
mats and thatches. Nearly all are uncleaned and 
malodorous. 

We went first to see the Cave of Machpelah, where 
Abraham is buried. The Mosque of Abraham, which 
none but Moslems may enter, is built over this. The 
Prince of Wales and his party, including Dean Stanley 
(who has written an account of it), General Lew Wal- 
lace — by special permit of the Sultan — and one or two 
other favored beings are the only Christians who in 
modern times have seen the interior. They report it as 
dark and unsightly. 

The mosque itself is a gray stone quadrangle, with a 
flight of steps leading up to the entrance. Christians 
are allowed to walk up to a certain step in this flight, 
but must stop there. While there is no truth in the 
story that death at the hands of an infuriated mob 
awaits the bold spirit who goes farther and enters the 
sacred mosque, yet the chances are that unpleasant con- 
sequences would arise, — and in the East unpleasant 
consequences should if possible be avoided. 

An English missionary and his wife have come to 
Hebron during the past few years and settled there. 
The missionary is a hopeless cripple and his wife is 
blind ; but the two labor cheerfully at their self- 
appointed task of making life more endurable among 
the poor, and have formed classes for teaching children 
to sew and to read. Poor themselves, and badlv ham- 
pered by physical infirmities, they carry on this work on 
their own account, unsupported by any board of mis- 
sions. 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE 



301 



David was well known and liked in Hebron, because 
of the trade he brought there ; so I was not subjected to 
the annoyances that await many tourists. The town, 
probably because of its aversion to outside influences, is 
less advanced than other Syrian cities. This same 
aversion — in a more or less modified form — will 
account for the lack of progress and of touch with the 
outer world noticeable throughout all Syria. The 
country is a problem by itself. Its present compared 
with its past, promises little hope of future improve- 
ment. So far as the political future is concerned, I 
confess I am not wise enough to give any new or sen- 
sible light on the subject. But whatever that future 
may be, it surely does not, as many philanthropists be- 
lieve, lie in the hands of the Jews. Such Hebrew col- 
onies as have been sent out have proved themselves, 
as a rule, lazy, visionary, and lacking in ability. 

The Turks will not improve the land ; all additions 
— diligence roads, railways, etc. — having been made 
by the French. 

The fellaheen, Bedouins, and townsfolk, seem content 
to plod on as they have done for two thousand years ; 
using old customs, old implements, and old forms of 
dress, with scarcely a single modern innovation. Is 
there any real reason to believe that they or the country 
will be materially different two thousand years hence ? 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



DEPARTURE FROM JERUSALEM — THROUGH THE LAND 
OF THE PHILISTINES — A MAN OF GATH — JAFFA. 




S my time was limited, I had no chance 
to travel to any extent through the 
country southwest of Hebron. 

One evening I bade Massoud an 
affectionate good-bye, which he re- 
ceived meekly and — as I fancied — 
with a gleam of repentance for past 
misdeeds, and I distributed the cus- 
tomary backsheesh among the ser- 
vants. Next morning David and I 
started by rail for Jaffa. 

An incongruous new station and 
European cars have lately become one of the features of 
the Holy City. Already the natives have picked up 
their Western brothers' habit of hanging about the plat- 
form at train-time ; and the Western-built trains, return- 
ing the compliment, have adopted the Oriental fashion 
of slow moving. 

Domian joined us on our way from the hotel, and 
when we reached the station three more figures ad- 
vanced to meet us. One of the three, tall and waver- 
ing, seemed to blend with the dense fog. Him we 
recognized as Imbarak the mournful. His short, ro- 

302 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



803 



tund companion was John ; while the weird, ghost-like 
creature that hopped about between the two and howled 
fiercely at a porter that got in his way, was Serkeese, 
beautified for the occasion by a new abieh and a shave. 

The three had come to see me off. This pleased me 
greatly, since, all backsheesh having been paid, their 
only motive for coming could have been to wish me 
bon voyage. 

The mists had cleared by the time our train entered 
the Valley of Elah. Here it was that the Philistines 
encamped against the army of Saul ; and the dried 
brook in the center is the same, beyond doubt, from 
which David gathered the five white stones for his 
combat with Goliath. 

" The Israelite army," said Jamal, pointing to the 
right, where the valley broadened into a plain, "prob- 
ably camped about there. David would have crossed 
the hills over there to the left to join them. Bethle- 
hem lies behind those hills. We are coming into the 
country of the Philistines, now. Their army probably 
came up this very gorge where the train is going. The 
fight between David and Goliath was somewhere along 
the brook." 

As we traveled on, the valley grew wider, and on a 
hill to the far right we saw a village and the ruins of 
an old city. 

" Those are the ruins of Zorah," said David. " The 
field in the valley to this side of the city is believed to 
be the spot where Manoah's wife saw the Angel who 
prophesied Samson's birth. Samson must often have 
walked over this country that we see now." 

Since seeing the huge yellow-haired Russian peasant 



304 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



in Bethlehem on the Greek Christmas, I have always 
imagined that Samson must have had somewhat the 
same appearance, and the same air of simplicity and 
strength. 

The scenery we looked on during most of our journey 
by rail was like that of the rest of Palestine, — bare 
mountains and treeless valleys, interspersed with olive 
orchards, and dotted with hillside villages of mud and 
4 stone. Here and there a few vineyards or a hill that 
had been terraced for cultivation, broke the general 
monotony. Beyond a range of hills on the opposite 
side of the valley from Zorah lies Gaza — now a mere 
village surrounded by olive groves and sand dunes — 
whose city gates Samson once carried away. 

The train stopped at Ramleh for some minutes, and 
we stepped out on the platform for a smoke. 

Leaning idly against a post of the platform, and 
smoking a cigarette, stood the tallest man I ever saw 
outside a circus. My head scarcely came to his 
shoulder. He was wrapped in a woolen abieh, a blue 
silk kafieh, thickly worked with gold, covered his 
head and shoulders, and his feet were encased in soft 
red slippers. Gigantic as the man was, his feet seemed 
to be unduly large, and were unshapely even to deform- 
ity. As I looked at him he relighted his cigarette, and I 
saw that he had six perfectly developed fingers on each 
hand. I was about to call David's attention to the 
peculiarity when, turning suddenly, the giant saw us 
and saluted the dragoman as an old acquaintance. Be- 
fore we had time for any talk the bell rang and we were 
forced to go back to the train. As we moved out of 
the station I looked back once more at the oddly formed 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



305 



native, and to my surprise saw another man almost as 
tall, and also with six fingers, join him. 

"Are all the inhabitants of Ramleh like that?" I 
asked David, pointing out this second man. 

" Those two men are brothers," he answered. " They 
are not of Ramleh, but of Gath. They have come down 
to-day to receive goods by the train from Jerusalem. 
They are strange men, and travelers have journeyed all 
the way to Gath to see them. Their father, who is dead 
these eight years, was formed as they are ; and his 
father before him. They claim, whether with truth or 
not no one knows, to be descended from the giant 
spoken of in Chronicles." 

The dragoman drew out a little pocket-Bible — the 
best Baedeker for Palestine, by the way — which he 
constantly carried ; and finding the place (1st Chroni- 
cles, 20th chapter and 6th verse) handed the book to 
me. I read: — 

" And yet again there was war at Gath, where was a 
man of great stature whose fingers and toes were four 
and twenty ; six on each hand and six on each foot " 
(this then explained the large misshapen feet of the 
man I had just seen), "and he also was the son of a 
giant." 

" You don't mean to say that these men trace their 
lineage back to him?" 

" They claim to, sir. As far back as men's memories 
go, the men of this one family have had six fingers on 
each hand and six toes on each foot. They have always 
lived at Gath, and the earliest tradition of their family is 
that they are descended from the great Philistine you 
read of a minute ago. It may be true ; it may not. 

X 



306 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



The family is rich and has always kept together. Only 
these two brothers now are left ; neither has any chil- 
dren. Many other families in Gath and Ascalon claim 
to be descended from the Philistines of old and still call 
themselves Philistines ; just as you saw the sect of Jews 
in Jerusalem who still call themselves Pharisees and 
who attend a separate synagogue where Pharisaical 
services are held.'' 

The railway over which we were traveling had been 
laid out with the idea of avoiding as many hills as pos- 
sible, and was twisted therefore in many cases into the 
shape of a corkscrew, or doubled like an Alpine tunnel- 
road. The next station was Lydda, the place in which 
Peter raised the sick girl. It is now a large and mod- 
ern-looking town. Passing on we came to the village 
of Ashdod, where Dagon's image was once found broken 
and overthrown. As we neared the sea the air grew 
warmer, and the verdure freshened greatly. We passed 
through a succession of orange-groves, and, three hours 
after leaving Jerusalem, stopped at the Jaffa station. 

Jaffa (the "High," or the "Beautiful") is very old. 
It was first given by Joshua to the tribe of Dan, and 
after many changes was made Jewish by the Maccabseii. 
It is now noted for having the sweetest oranges and the 
worst harbor in the world. The former claim is open to 
doubt, but I can vouch for the truth of the latter. 

The town proper is built on the side of a steep hill 
overlooking the Mediterranean. Most of the houses 
face the east (or landward), so that to any one passing 
at night by sea scarcely a light is visible. Something — 
perhaps the broadness and tolerable paving of some of 
the streets, perhaps the vines and balconies — gives Jaffa 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



307 



a more European air than is possessed by any other 
Syrian city. It had seemed to me from my former 
bird's-eye view on my way to Beirut, utterly Oriental. 
Now, however, I could see traces of Greek, French, and 
Egyptian influence that gave the place a thoroughly 
cosmopolitan aspect. 

The population is estimated at from eight to fifteen 
thousand inhabitants, of whom more than five hundred 
are Europeans. The outskirts of the town are made up 
of orange-groves and vineyards, with an indiscriminate 
smattering of villas and adobe huts. Rows of cactus 
hedge fringe the roadway. Each orange-grove is pro- 
vided with a waterwheel. These wheels are similar to 
those seen in Egypt near Heliopolis and along the Nile, 
and are turned by means of a long wooden beam to 
which an ox, a donkey, or a buffalo is harnessed. The 
wheels themselves, like that at the Dothan mill, are 
covered with earthen jars, which, coming up full, 
empty themselves into large troughs. The troughs con- 
nect with a stream that irrigates the whole orchard. 

The residence streets of the town are broad and have 
long, heavily-latticed windows that project over the 
street. The latticed window originated in the East, 
and was used as far back as the time when the mother 
of Sisera, watching for her son's return, cried through 
the lattice : " Why is his chariot so long in coming? " 

The main business street, lined with stalls and bazaars, 
is also very broad, but is choked with strings of mangy, 
unwashed camels, and with beggars and hucksters, 
while an army of scavenger dogs are always getting 
under the feet of passers-by. Narrow alleys, some 
arched over, almost all tortuous and steep, wriggle 



308 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



away from the street toward the water. A broad sand- 
beach lies on either side of the town, and a broken- 
down apology for a breakwater rises at some distance 
from the shore. 

The harbor is, as I have said, probably the worst in 
the world. When the water is at all rough, landing 
becomes almost an impossibility ; while, in a gale, ves- 
sels make no attempt to send boats ashore, but carry 
mail, freight, express and passengers along to Beirut or 
to Port Said, as the case may be, bringing them back 
on the next trip. Should the water still be heavy when 
they pass that way again, no landing is made, and all 
imports are carried (owners paying) on, until some time 
when the water is smooth enough for boats to transport 
them safely to shore. Thus, frequently, dwellers at 
Jerusalem are forced to wait a week or more for their 
mail, and perishable merchandise is frequently ruined. 

I once saw an unfortunate sheep-merchant tear his 
clothes, throw dust on his head, and offer up a series of 
universal and comprehensive curses, because a large 
cargo of sheep that he had shipped at great expense 
from Alexandretta (a small town on the north Syrian 
coast) to Jaffa, could not be landed on account of a 
storm, and had to be carried on to Alexandria, Egypt, 
and thence back again. The merchant was not only 
obliged to pay extra freight, but also, as he had only 
fodder enough to last from Alexandria to Jaffa, lost 
several sheep on the way from starvation. 

Several lines of steamers, unless stopped by quaran- 
tine, pass Jaffa weekly. The best of these lines are the 
Messageries Maritimes, the Khedivial, and the Austrian 
Lloyd. 



i 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



JAFFA HARBOR — " 'TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP 



SEA 



55 



A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR — ON BOARD. 



EVERAL people were going to sail 
from Jaffa on the same steamer — a 
Khedivial boat — that I expected to 
take. A strong wind had blown all 
day, and the night before I had heard 
the booming of surf along the beach. 
The steamer was due at three in the 
afternoon. 

That morning a boat-load of people 
had tried to land from a passing ship 
and had capsized ; one of the party — 
a little girl six years old — had been 
lost. She had either been drowned or 
killed by sharks, many of whom infest the harbor. The 
others were rescued by Cook's boatmen. 

The prospect of embarkation after we heard of the 
morning's adventure, was, to say the least, scarcely 
enlivening. By way of making matters worse, the wind 
increased fifty per cent as the day wore on. 

David was full of concern ; trying to prevent me 
from hearing of the drowning episode — not an easy 
matter, since all Jaffa was talking about it; — and 
advising me not to sail on any consideration. 

311 




312 



SYBIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



Unfortunately no other steamer for Egypt was to 
pass for over a week ; so I was in much the same posi- 
tion as the fox, in the Southern planter's story, who 
climbed a tree ; the narrator of the tale giving, as a 
reason for the fox's having performed this impossible 
feat : " He had to climb ! The dogs were after him ! " 

I was due in Egypt before the end of the week; 
I was therefore forced to take the first steamer I could 
get. David, finding all protestations useless, set sor- 
rowfully about the task of getting my luggage through 
the custom house, an operation in which, in Syria 
as in most other countries, the glitter of silver blinds 
the official eye to many contraband exports. 

We outgoers were finishing lunch at Howard's Hotel 
at one o'clock: an Englishman who had conscien- 
tiously taken two helps of everything, three French 
tourists (two men and a woman), and five Americans 
— making nine guests in all. We were all going on 
the afternoon boat. The Englishman, a long tortoise- 
like being with a blase expression, was holding forth on 
the advantages of eating a hearty meal before going to 
sea. I had eaten hearty meals and I knew the effect ; 
I also knew how the boat would rock to-day. But, like 
the four other Americans, I said nothing. 

One of the two Frenchmen — M. Jules La Roche, 
Marseilles, France, as the hotel register had it — was 
telling his wife patronizingly in his own tongue, utterly 
oblivious of the fact that some of us might possibly 
understand French, how foolish these Englishmen and 
Americans were to fear the sea on so bright a day. 
" There was no danger ; or if there was, why, nom de 
Dieu ! who feared it ? " 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



313 



In the midst of the international scene we were 
interrupted by David's entrance. He came to tell me 
that the steamer was ahead of time, that it was already 
in the offing, and that it could not land. If I still 
insisted on sailing, it would be necessary for me to go 
out in a rowboat, meet the steamer as she came down, 
and be lifted aboard. Moreover, there was not a mo- 
ment to lose. Other dragomans came in while he was 
talking, and told their respective patrons the same 
thing. 

We all hurried down the steep street to the landing, 
our English adviser seeming less confident than before 
on the subject of the heavy lunch he had just eaten. 

I walked with David. 

" You can swim, sir," he said as we went along ; 
"otherwise it would be folly to attempt the passage. I, 
myself, cannot swim, and therefore they forbid me to go 
out to the ship with you. I had hoped to take you 
there in my own boat with my own boatmen ; it is a 
good boat, sir, and I wanted you to see it. But the sea 
is high, and order has been given that only Cook's boats 
shall go out to-day. And they will not let me go." 

We laugh here in America and in Europe at Cook's 
tourists ; and we say the term " dumb, driven cattle " 
takes on a new meaning when we see the poor, panting, 
submissive creatures rushed through the entire Vatican 
or the Louvre in eleven minutes. But in the East, 
Cook is a mighty power. His boats and boatmen are 
the finest and his agents the most efficient in the world. 
He has forty-one boatmen — all trained men — at Jaffa, 
and from this number sixteen picked men were chosen to 
man the strongest boat and carry us out to the steamer. 



314 



SYEIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



David came down the wave-washed steps with me, 
and at the foot we said " good-bye." I was heartily 
sorry to leave him, for he was not only the best drago- 
man, but also the most entertaining and considerate 
companion I ever met. 

He is still in the business of dragoman and con- 
tractor, and I recommend him to any or all travelers 
in Syria. My personal recommendation is by itself 
of little weight; but, backed as it is by certificates 
from such men as the Duke of Connaught and Canon 
Tristan, both of whom have been among Jamal's 
"howajis," it may be of some value. At all events it 
can do no harm. A letter in advance addressed to 
44 David Jamal, Jerusalem, Syria" will reach the drago- 
man and will ensure his services from the moment of 
landing to that of embarkation. He has guided many 
parties, large and small, and has always given perfect 
satisfaction. 

We nine passengers were placed in the stern of the 
boat ; our luggage was piled in after us ; and the six- 
teen oarsmen, at a word of command, bent to work. 
They were a picturesque lot, these trained athletes, 
with the bare masses of muscle that served them for 
arms and legs, and their weather-beaten, determined 
faces surmounted by the regulation close-fitting red cap 
and long tassel worn by all Eastern rowers. 

They rowed steadily and regularly until the crazy 
breakwater was passed. Then the ball opened in sober 
earnest. The waves became ten times as high as be- 
fore, and our heavy boat was tossed about like a 
feather. 

As we came out into open sea the oarsmen sprang to 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



315 



their feet with a shout, and, bracing themselves against 
the thwarts, threw their whole weight and force on the 
long oars, breaking at the same moment into a rhythmic 
shout of "Allah sa-id. — Allah sa-id" {All-ah-sy-eed), 
" God help us ! G-od save us ! " This they continued 
throughout the trip, keeping perfect stroke, never inter- 
mitting the terrible strain, and always with that one 
chant. 

The excitement grew intense. At one moment we 
would be in the trough of the sea, with waves rising 
green on either side, far above our heads, until nothing 
could be seen but two dark walls of water, with a patch 
of blue sky gleaming above their white crests ; the next 
instant we were tossing high in the air on a mountain 
of water, in full sight of the hundreds who watched us 
from the shore. I could make out among the throng 
on the beach one dark figure that stood dejectedly apart 
from the rest trying to wave his white handkerchief 
with an air of encouragement. It was David, and I 
waved back to him whenever I could make myself 
seen. 

The roar of water and the blinding masses of spray, 
the rush of our boat through the waves, and the strong, 
regular chant shouted by the boatmen, as with fierce, 
set faces they threw themselves backward at each stroke, 
acted like champagne on the nerves, and filled one with 
the insane pleasure that excitement and danger so 
often bring. I can now appreciate the sentiments of 
the tourist who had once shot some dangerous Canadian 
rapids and who afterward declared he would not have 
missed the experience for a hundred dollars — or go 
through it again for a thousand. 



316 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



I saw, in one of our risings, the steamer about a mile 
to the north, bearing down on us. After watching it 
rise and fall for a few moments I noticed that the land 
had also begun to rise and fall in a dizzying fashion ; 
then I discovered that I was tired of my cigarette and 
that I didn't like tobacco anyway ; so I stopped smok- 
ing. I was fast approaching the state where life seemed 
little more attractive than the tobacco, when my mind 
was luckily diverted by the Englishman whom I had 
met at luncheon and who now sat next to me. 

He was deathly white, and every time we seemed on 
the point of drowning he looked almost hopeful. 

In Daudet's Tartarin de Tarascon, the hero of the 
work undertakes to ride a camel in Algeria, and, after 
the first few rods, becomes desperately seasick — the 
motion of a camel is like that of a ship in a heavy sea 
— and implores the driver to stop ; giving as an excuse 
that he, Tartarin, is a representative of France, and that 
France must not be disgraced. The driver, however, 
keeps on, unheeding, and " The red fez sank lower and 
lower — and — France was disgraced ! " 

Great Britain's representative, despite his illustrated 
lecture on the advantage of a heavy luncheon before sail- 
ing, had evidently not reckoned on being rocked in the 
cradle of the deep in this fashion ; so, after glaring 
stonily at the world in general for some minutes he 
collapsed, a total wreck, in the bottom of the boat, 
where he lay for the rest of the trip, and — England 
" was disgraced." 

M. La Roche, the Marseillaise tourist, still remained 
valiant. He was scornfully forgetful of the sea, and 
spent the time in reassuring his wife — who sat sto- 



STRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



317 



lidly looking into space — and in humming an air from 
Rigoletto. 

The Americans sat quiet, with neither the abandon of 
woe shown by the Englishman, nor the bravado of the 
Frenchman. 

As the ship came alongside, La Roche, who sat with his 
back to it and was therefore unaware of its nearness, 
was saying to his wife in the most encouraging style : — 

^Point de danger, ma chere ; point de danger, je 
assure! " 

Turning suddenly, he saw the ship directly over his 
head, gang-plank down, and with sailors waiting to lift 
us aboard. The horror of the situation and the peril of 
being caught — or missed — by men in mid-air and of 
being hauled up that slippery surface, burst upon him ; 
and the good-natured cynicism fled as by magic from his 
face. He gazed blankly at the ship for an instant, his 
face growing paler and his aspiring moustaches seeming 
to wilt ; then seizing his wife despairingly by the arm 
he shrieked to the whole boatload, — 

" Ne bougez pas ! JVe bougez 'point! C'est une atrocite! " 

As he saw the preparations for boarding go on despite 
his remonstrance, he rolled to the bottom of the boat in 
a paroxysm of fear, and crouched there trembling all 
over. Despite our seasickness no one could help laugh- 
ing, and the laugh did us good. 

By this time we were well alongside, and began to 
be lifted, one by one, to the ship. Every time we arose 
on the crest of a wave two oarsmen would lift a pas- 
senger out of the boat for two sailors to catch from 
above and deposit on the gang-plank. Meanwhile, the 
boat would once more sink far into the trough of the 



318 



SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE. 



sea, and another passenger would prepare to be lifted 
out. 

The first victim chanced to be our English acquaint- 
ance. He was by this time too nearly void of life and 
will to help in the operation, but suffered himself to be 
drawn out like a telescope to an astounding length, 
and to be pulled rope-like to the deck. I came next, 
so I cannot say how the French family fared. 

The vessel only paused long enough to let us get on 
board, then started on, leaving the plucky oarsmen to 
get their boat back to shore as they could. 

I watched the landing-steps until the waving hand- 
kerchief and at last the town itself faded from sight. 
As I turned, with an almost homesick feeling, to go 
below, I heard the Englishman, who had by this time 
quite recovered, say to a fellow-passenger : — 

" My dragoman asked me, when I stopped at Jaffa, 
if I would like to go to the house of Simon the Tanner. 
I fancy Simon must be some friend of his that sells 
things, you know. He said I ought not to miss going 
there ; but I told him I didn't know the man he spoke 
of, and what was more I didn't care to make his 
acquaintance." 

And this was one of the class who can afford to travel ! 



